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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702928">Swords and Starry Nights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebraHicks/pseuds/DebraHicks'>DebraHicks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Real Ghostbusters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pirates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:47:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebraHicks/pseuds/DebraHicks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is zapped into another reality by a powerful demon leaving the others desperate for a way to get him back.  For Peter though, the other reality offers deadly temptations that he is hard pressed to fight.</p><p>Published in "Crossing the Streams #3" 6/1/1993<br/>STIFFie 1994 Best Misc / Fan Q 1995 Best RGB Slash</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Egon Spengler/Peter Venkman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the doorbell kept ringing.  Peter Venkman turned over, sighed deeply and forced his sluggish muscles to push him out of bed.  He silently cursed his case of flu, adding a quick complaint that Janine had gone to pay some of their last minute bills.  At least she would be back soon.  But not soon enough to answer the door. Since the guys had promised to hang the closed sign on outer door, it was obvious someone couldn't read. Or wouldn't take no for an answer.  </p><p>Swinging the door open, Peter said firmly, "We're clos..."  </p><p>The man standing in front of him had to be the best example of the term "mouse" Peter had ever seen.  He was five feet nothing high, with thinning brown hair and plain features. Wringing his hands nervously, he stared up at the tall Ghostbuster.  </p><p>"I'm sorry,"  he stammered.  "I saw the sign.  But please, sir, I'm very desperate.  I need help!  I can't take it any longer!"  </p><p>"Easy, easy,"  Peter soothed, sensing a full blown anxiety attack coming on if he didn't stop the man.  "Uh.. come on in."  </p><p>The man slid into the firehouse, keeping a distance between himself and Peter.  Leading the way, Peter walked slowly over to the desk, motioning the man into the visitor's chair.  He took Janine's chair, reaching for the tissue box at the same time.  </p><p>Blinking through watery eyes, Peter asked, "Now, Mister?"  </p><p>"Michael McGil,"  the man glanced quickly around.  Peter vaguely hoped Slimer wouldn't make a sudden appearance; he might give the man a heart attack.  </p><p>Peter sneezed.  "Look, Mr. McGill, I have a bad cold and I'm not taking..."  </p><p>"I... I understand but..."  He was wringing his hands again. "Maybe I could just stay here until your colleagues get back.  I simply can't go back to my apartment."  </p><p>Plastering on a smile, Peter groaned inwardly.  "Well, why don't you tell me what the problem is and we'll see what we can do."  </p><p>"There's a ghost in my kitchen."  "Could you be a little more specific?"  Peter requested. He kept trying to think of some smart remarks to make about the whole situation but the dizziness induced by the drugs and headache made it impossible.  "There are a lot of differences between ghosts."  </p><p>It took nearly half an hour to pry the details out of the man.  From the description, it seemed to be a simple case of a repeating class two, nothing that would cause any of them to break a sweat.  As the man talked, Peter realized that he could either go take care of the ghost or he could badysit McGil until the others returned.  One promised to be an hour or so of ghosthunting verses several hours of endlessly boring conversation.  </p><p>With a smile, Peter decided there really wasn't much of a decision here.  Grabbing his box of tissue, he stood up. "Okay, Mr. McGil, let's go take care of your ghost."  </p><p>He was rewarded with a fleeting smile, one that was as timid as everything else about McGil.  Getting the address from the man, Peter scribbled a hasty note for the rest of the famous team.  He propped the note on Janine's computer and went upstairs to get his equipment.  While he was reasonably sure he would beat the others back he knew he would catch hell if he didn't leave an explanation of his absence.  He also knew he was going to catch hell for going out alone but he didn't let it worry him very much.  </p><p>The apartment was as plain as it's owner, a combination kitchen and living area, with a bedroom just off the main room. The furnishings were older, neat, Spartan, boring. Peter sneezed as he came in, sniffling loudly.  He glanced at his watch.  </p><p>"Okay, Mr. McGil, if what you said is accurate, the goober should make an appearance in about twenty minutes,"  Peter said hoarsely.  </p><p>"Yes, yes."  McGil motioned toward a chair at the formica kitchen table.  "Would you like a cup of tea, Doctor?  With a little honey? It might help your throat."  </p><p>Peter accepted the chair and the offer.  "Thanks, sounds good."  </p><p>Unsnapping his PKE meter, Peter lay it on the table, checked the settings and sat back to wait.  The other man thankfully didn't demand any conversation as he made the tea and handed it over to Peter.  McGil sat down opposite him at the small table, glancing nervously at his watch.  </p><p>"Not to worry, Mr. McGil,"  Peter said in his most reassuring manner.  "This shouldn't be any problem."  </p><p>"Well, I'm just very thankful you we're able to come. Um... about your fee?"  </p><p>The man's voice and the apartment walls suddenly disappeared and Peter had to blink hard to bring the world back in around him.  "Fee?" He waved casually.  "We take American Express, Visa, all the usual cards. Or..."  </p><p>The world spun again and for the first time Peter began to wonder if coming had been such a good idea.  The man had lived with the ghost this long, a few more hours to wait for the guys probably would have been a better idea.  </p><p>"Mr. McGil..."  He was surprised at how hard it was to talk.  </p><p>His eyes had closed without him wanting it.  He forced them back open, was startled to find McGil standing over him. He was even more startled to find himself on the floor, having fallen out of the chair.  Panic began to build - and suspicion. This was more than a head cold.  </p><p>"Tea?"  he mumbled.  He grabbed for McGil.  "What are you..."  </p><p>Despite his anger and fear, the world faded out.  The last thing Peter heard was the PKE meter signalling the arrival of something far stronger than a simple Class Two repeater.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How much further, Winston?"  Ray demanded.  </p><p>"Three blocks,"  Winston announced tightly.  </p><p>Egon sighed, understanding Winston's anger and Ray's concern.  When they had arrived home and found Peter gone his first emotion had been the same as Winston's, anger.  They had all agreed long ago that none of them went on calls alone.  The anger had cooled quickly as the minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of their wayward companion.  </p><p>Ecto One slid to a stop in front of a renovated brownstone. Lights shown from the second floor, bright in the cold January night.  Egon shouldered into his pack as he came around the old hearse.  Automatically, he reached for the PKE meter and swept it toward the building.  It stayed dark and silent.  </p><p>"If there were a Class Two here it is no longer in evidence," he observed.  </p><p>"Then where's Peter?"  Ray questioned.  </p><p>Egon shook his head, sending his glasses down to the end of his nose.  He pushed them up, starting forward.  "I suggest we ask Mr. McGil."  </p><p>"Damn straight,"  Winston agreed quietly.  </p><p>A minute later the door that Winston had banged against opened.  </p><p>"Good evening, gentleman, can I help you?"  </p><p>The man was tall, with black hair, startling blue eyes, and a profile that would have gained him notice in any fashion magazine.  Egon exchanged a quick glance with Ray.  This did not seem like the kind of man to panic over a ghost in his kitchen as Peter's note had mentioned.  </p><p>Egon recovered first.  "Mr. Mcgil?"  </p><p>The man nodded.  "You're the other Ghostbusters.  Please," he said graciously, "come in." </p><p>The apartment was as urban and striking as its owner. Solid furniture in black and white was contrasted and enhanced by paintings of modern masters in splashes of brilliant color.  </p><p>"Nice place," Ray observed softly.  </p><p>"Thank you.  And much nicer after your companion's visit," Mcgil said happily.  "Having a ghost in your kitchen is not something that would attract neighbors.  To say nothing of the possible destruction of..."  </p><p>"Mr. Mcgil,"  Egon interrupted.  "How long ago was Dr. Venkman here?"  </p><p>McGil glanced at his Rolex. "He left about two hours ago. Why? Is there a problem?"  </p><p>"Dr. Venkman,"  Winston explained shortly, "hasn't returned to headquarters."  </p><p>Before the man could voice his opinion on that, Egon cut him off.  "Can you describe what occurred while Dr. Venkman was here?"  </p><p>"Certainly,"  McGil agreed, then added quickly, "Although I did just try to stay out of the way."  </p><p>He moved into the kitchen and pointed.  "I told Dr. Venkman where the ghost appeared and he put one of those trap devices next to the sink."  He pointed down to illustrate. "Just as the sun went down, the ghost appeared, all sliming and wailing.  Dr. Venkman shot it and stepped on the petal of the trap at the same time.  Whoosh, and it was all over."  </p><p>Smiling, McGil said, "Quick and neat, just like Doctor Venkman said it would be.  I gave him a check, including the solo call fee, thanked him very much and that was it."  </p><p>Egon frowned across at his two companions, then waved the meter toward the kitchen area.  "I am picking up slight residual readings that would indicate a recent proton discharge."  </p><p>There was uneasy silence for a moment.  Finally, Winston cleared his throat, taking over for the two distracted scientists.  "Thank you, Mr. McGil."  </p><p>Realizing that they weren't going to learn anymore here, Egon nudged Ray and they followed Winston toward the door. "Yes, we appreciate the information."  </p><p>"I'm sorry I can't tell you more,"  McGil apologized.  "I really appreciated him coming over.  I know he couldn't have enjoyed it, not with that mother of a head cold."  Helpfully, he added, "Maybe he decided to go to the doctor for it."  </p><p>"Perhaps,"  Egon answered vaguely.  </p><p> </p><p>The walk back to Ecto was done in complete silence. Only as the doors slammed shut did Ray turn to Egon.  Egon frowned, expecting a searching look, a forced hope in the amber eyes. To his surprise there was suspicion in Ray's expression.  </p><p>"McGil is lying about something," Ray said firmly.  </p><p>"Nothing registered on the scanner,"  Egon observed quietly.  </p><p>"Egon," Winston said tightly.  "Have you considered that we may have a nut case here.  Someone human who may just have..."  </p><p>He couldn't bring himself to finish the suggestion.  </p><p>"Or,"  Ray offered. "he could have been expecting us and covered up somehow."  </p><p>"Why would he cover up for a ghost?"  Winston wondered. "And how? The meters can..."  </p><p>Deciding to prove or disprove the desperate speculations, Egon opened the PKE meter and recalibrated the dials.  The device immediately sounded. Egon checked the glowing instrument, taking a short quick breath.  He frowned, tuning the meter.  </p><p>"It's a very unusual reading. It appears more a blanket of energy rather than a single entity."  </p><p>"Like something to hide something?"  Ray questioned.  </p><p>Winston had heard enough.  "That's good enough for me.  I say we go in and find out what the hell is going on."  </p><p>"I am in basic agreement, Winston,"   Egon said, trying to control his impatience and worry.  "But we need to recalibrate the packs to cover a large area."  </p><p>"I'll do it!"  Ray shrugged off his pack, moving back to Ecto for the tool kit.  </p><p>While he worked, Winston moved to Egon.  "You aren't picking up Peter's readings, are you?"  It was asked hopefully, but in a tone that said he knew Egon would have already mentioned it if he were.  </p><p>"No, the area is too well blanketed."  </p><p>Winston shook his head.  "I hope he's okay in there."  </p><p>Blue eyes, pale in the dim light met with the concerned brown.  "I hope he's in there,"  Egon said.  </p><p>"Ready!"  Ray announced.  "Let's go get Peter back."  </p><p>At the door, they paused only long enough for Egon to remind them, "This is unlawful entry."  </p><p>Winston kicked in the door. Ray went in first, thrower out. Egon was right behind him, meter clicking furiously.  An outraged shout sounded just as the light came on.  </p><p>"What the hell are you doing!  Get..."  McGil saw the proton pack and paled.  "No!  You have no right!"  </p><p>Ray fired, the thin beam spreading out to cover the entire kitchen.  Nothing happened.  </p><p>"Swing the beam!"  Egon urged.  </p><p>Ray moved the stream, slowly bringing it to play in the main room.  The walls shimmered.  </p><p>"No!"  McGil moved, throwing himself toward the beam.  </p><p>"Man, get the hell...!"  Winston yelled.  </p><p>Ray jerked the beam to the roof, switching off.  </p><p>"Move him, Winston,"  Egon ordered firmly.  </p><p>"My pleasure."  The Ghostbuster advanced on the man with heartfelt menace in his expression. "I don't like people who lie to me and my friends."  </p><p>If McGil had been pale before he went white now, but he held his ground.  "You'll void the deal if you do this, everything will revert."  </p><p>"Explain," Egon ordered calmly.  </p><p>McGil's expression hardened.  "No."  </p><p>Winston grabbed McGil by the upper arms and hauled him struggling and screaming out of range. Ray opened fire immediately.  The walls shivered again, and began to fade. Within seconds what had been an elegant, well appointed living room was now Spartan and faded.  </p><p>"Shit!"  Winston dropped the man he was holding, a thin, brown haired mousey man.  </p><p>The man held their attention for less than a heartbeat.  </p><p>"Peter!"  Ray cried.  </p><p>Laying on the dull beige couch, completely still, was their missing companion.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter knew before he opened his eyes that he wasn't going to like wherever he was.   Whenever something like this happened he would wake to find himself in some strange dimension being threatened by various goobers or demons or some deranged human with a grudge.  From the feel of rough stone under his back and the very near, overwhelming smell of fish he knew this wasn't going to be any different.  So he lay still a long time, learning as much as he could and gathering what strength he had.  </p>
<p>"He must be awake by now."  </p>
<p>For a moment Peter wasn't sure his hearing was good, then he realized the voice was speaking French.  </p>
<p>Something hard shoved him in the ribs and he decided faking it any longer wasn't going to gain him anything.  He groaned, opened his eyes and struggled to sit up.  He got half-way up before he was grabbed, hauled him to his feet, and shoved against a wall.  </p>
<p>He was in an alley, that much Peter could tell immediately; alleys everywhere always seemed to look alike.  The hard smell of salt water carried to him.  The man holding him against the wall was big, dirty and dressed in an outfit from an old Errol Flynn swashbuckler, complete with red stripped bandana wrapped around his head.  Glancing down, Peter was startled to find himself wearing a plain white cotton shirt over a pair of tight black cotton pants stuffed into tall, scuffed black boots.  </p>
<p>"What are you guys made up for... hey..."  </p>
<p>His chin was grabbed and his face twisted around so that the other man could study him.  </p>
<p>Peter jerked away.  "Don't..."  </p>
<p>A fist to his stomach stopped his protest, taking his breath and doubling him over.  The man grabbed his hair, threw him against the wall and cocked his fist back, aiming for Peter's face.  Peter flinched, too dazed to do anything but wait for the blow.  </p>
<p>The second man stopped the fist at the last minute.  Peter struggled to get his breath back as his savior continued to restrain his companion.  </p>
<p>"Leave him alone," the man said seriously.  "We'll get more if he looks healthy.  Let the auction master take care of him."  </p>
<p>"Look,"  Peter started, "I'm sure we can... !"  </p>
<p>The bigger man spun him around, shoving his face hard against the abrasive red brick wall, pulling his arms behind his back.  Too many Brooklyn street fights had taught Peter when the time for action had arrived.  Ignoring the dizziness that was still present, he let himself slump toward the ground. The grip on his wrists lessened.  Immediately, he surged to his feet, spinning around and letting his fist sink into the first man's solid stomach.  </p>
<p>The other man lunged for him.  He grabbed the first one's arm, swung him into his companion and sprinted away.  The alley ended at a cobblestone lined street just visible in the pale light of dawn.  Peter hesitated only a moment in surprise, turned left and started away. The sound of close pursuit drove him on.  </p>
<p>"Slave!  Stop him.  He's an escaping slave!"  </p>
<p>The man's words, screamed in French, sent more confusion into Peter's shaky reality.  People began to appear on the street, though no one moved to stop him.  His breath was coming hard now and his knees were starting to shake.  He stumbled, righted himself and pressed on, only to reach a dead end as the street turned into dock.  </p>
<p>Something snagged his legs, jerked them out from under him, spilling him onto the wooden dock. As he struggled up, the whip that had caught him lashed out, biting into his arm. He yelped. The whip cut out again, drawing blood, spreading fire along his back.  After a dozen lashes, Peter had no strength left, could only lie still, panting for air.  </p>
<p>The big man came forward, coiling the leather weapon. Peter was jerked to his feet, a hemp rope thrown over his neck and his hands tied behind his back.  Using the rope as a leash, his captors pulled him forward.  </p>
<p>"Let's get him to the block.  This one is too much trouble."  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a nightmare he couldn't wake from.  The smell of sweat and a pall of despair hung over the market square. Peter had dozed fitfully through a long night spent tied to a stake, in a winding line of men and women.  He had been disoriented and in pain.  Now, his senses had started to clear, his cold vanishing as if it had never existed.  He was left with the strange conclusion that whatever had brought him here wanted him healthy.  </p>
<p>Just after dawn he was given a cup of water and a piece of bread.  It tasted wonderful.  He had given up talking for the moment, each syllable had gained him another bruise.  Now, several hours into his third evening he found himself standing on stiff legs moving ever closer to the block.  </p>
<p>A strong tug on the cutting hemp rope urged him forward. Ahead of him were five blacks, three men and two women; several Indians had been sold earlier.  Peter had given up the thought of escape; the auctions guards were too close and too well armed.  Once bought he would figure something out.  </p>
<p>A thin man, obviously bored with the long day stepped in front of him and spoke to his keepers.  </p>
<p>"Skills?"  he asked in English.  </p>
<p>"Labor,"  one answered, also in English.  </p>
<p>"I'm not a slave!"  Peter suddenly protested, pushing away from the damp wall.  "These two kid..."  </p>
<p>A heavy hand silenced him with a backhand slap.  The auctioneers assistant completely ignored him. The man motioned and Peter was spun around, his shirt lifted and a calloused hand ran down his back.  Frowning through his disgust, Peter suddenly understood why he been given a clean shirt; the bloodstains would have branded him a troublemaker.  </p>
<p>"Good condition,"  the man commented.  "Writing?  Reading?"  </p>
<p>At that the two men stared blankly.  One jabbed Peter in the ribs.  "Of course,"  Peter answer quickly. "Both. Which is more than I can say for the two..."  </p>
<p>Another slap cut him off. Suddenly seeing an opportunity to improve his situation Peter added, "I speak English, French, Spanish and Latin.  And I can do math... uh, figures."  </p>
<p>That got the man's interest.  The assistant studied him for a moment, then whistled.  A small black boy scrambled over several crates to join them.  The man knelt and spoke intently to the child. The boy nodded and sprinted off.  He turned away, leaving Peter and his captors alone.  </p>
<p>Sighing in temporary defeat, Peter leaned back, lost in thought, his mind turning the same tight circle it had for the past two nights.  It was obvious that something powerful had transferred him here, where here was being his biggest question. With a slight smile, he amended that - getting back was his biggest question.  And to do that he needed to know where here was, as well as who had snatched him and why.  </p>
<p>This dimension, as far as he could tell, was not paranormal. It seemed to be exactly what it was, a Caribbean or southern port sometime between 1650 and 1700.  That the entity had cured his cold could mean anything.  He could have been brought to help this dimension somehow; he could just be a new plaything or he could have been removed so that he couldn't help his own world or friends.  Since he was alone, he ruled out the last option.  If an entity had a takeover in mind, it would want all of them out of the way.  He refused to consider that they could all  be separated in time and space.  If he had been kidnapped by something that needed help the entity would have identified itself by now.  Which left the idea of him being here to amuse something.  It was at the same time the most terrifying and most reassuring.  While he might have to endure some discomfort, it meant they others would be searching for him, would be trying to rescue him.  He held on to that thought like a talisman against the darkness.  </p>
<p>"Now gentlemen, pay attention here!"  </p>
<p>Peter suddenly found himself thrust onto the small wooden stage, the auction block.  He brightened, trying to look harmless.  Any place would be an improvement over where he was.  </p>
<p>"A tall strapping fellow,"  the auctioneer said, prodding Peter around.  </p>
<p>To Peter's horror several men stepped closer, feeling along his arms and down his back.  </p>
<p>"Back off, jack!"  Peter hissed.  </p>
<p>There was a mumble from the crowd and the auctioneer frowned.  Unconsciously, Peter steeled himself for a blow.  The well-dressed auctioneer merely chased the men off and launched into his spell with even more enthusiasm.  </p>
<p>"Ah, but there's more here than there seems.  This one speaks English, Spanish, French and Latin!"  </p>
<p>This time the crowd made a noise of approval. Peter scanned the faces in the fading daylight, searching for some harmless looking soul who might need a good slave.  </p>
<p>"And, ladies and gentlemen, he can do figures!" More approval.  "We'll start the bidding at five hundred."  </p>
<p>Immediately several hands went up.  The auctioneer pointed to one at random and the bids started to climb.  Peter watched intently, smiling wryly.  He would have to remember the final price, so he could joke about it with the guys later.  </p>
<p>"Does he play chess?"  </p>
<p>Peter's head snapped around. He almost cried out in relief at hearing the familiar bass voice.  He scanned the group, readily spotting the pale gold hair. The man who had spoken was seated on a large black horse just at the edge of the crowd.  </p>
<p>"Alright, Egon!" Peter whispered fervently.  </p>
<p>The blunt end of the whip shoved him over a few feet. "Answer!"  the auctioneer demanded.  </p>
<p>"Yes.  I can play chess," he said with a smile.  </p>
<p>The bid went up another notch.  Peter was too busy staring at Egon, waiting for some clue as to what to do.  The man raised his hand at the next price and Peter nodded his understanding. They were too far apart for Egon to do much, so he had chosen the simple, logical route of purchasing his friend. With a groan Peter knew he would never hear the end of it once they were home.  </p>
<p>The auctioneer droned on, his price going up in smaller increments now.  Finally the gavel dropped with a bang.  </p>
<p>"Sold to Captain Christopher!"  The man exclaimed.  </p>
<p>The auctioneers statement sent an edge of confusion through Peter.  It appeared the man knew Egon, but that couldn't be right.  Before Peter had time to think about it he was hauled roughly off the stage and shoved toward a torchlit table in a corner. His two captors were smiling widely, laughing. He ignored them, moving without urging toward the table and the tall blonde who was standing there handing over gold coins.  </p>
<p>"Egon!"  He was nearly running now.  "Egon!  You old dog, I knew..."  </p>
<p>The man looked up - and Peter slammed to a halt as if he'd hit an invisible wall.  The man standing only a half-dozen feet in front of him was the picture of Egon Spengler, tall, handsome, calmly gazing on the world from behind gold rimmed glasses. But one look into the blue eyes and Peter knew this was not his old friend.  The azure eyes, normal contained but always touched with a hint of warmth were controlled and hard, gazing at him without recognition.  </p>
<p>"Egon..."  Peter let the word trail off, die into a plea for rescue.  </p>
<p>Suspicion entered his new owner's expression. He whirled toward the paymaster.  "Is he idle?!  I haven't paid King's gold for..."  </p>
<p>"No,"  Peter spoke up, suddenly terrified that he would lose this fragile reminder of home.  "I'm not idle!  I just... you looked like someone I know."  </p>
<p>There was a moment's hesitation then the cold look on the fair face faded a little, leaving typical Egon-like control. Peter shook his head, thinking like that could be dangerous. He wiped all expression off his own face, forcing himself to wait, to be patient until he could figure out what effect this new change would have on his chances of getting home.  </p>
<p>The price was paid.  The paymaster stood up, handing the sum to the two men and taking the end of Peter's rope, he offered it to his new owner.  The image of Egon took it and tugged Peter toward his horse.  </p>
<p>"You don't have to drag me," Peter protested, unable to take any more in silence.  </p>
<p>The man spun around, expression tight.  He started to speak, stopped and stroked thoughtfully along his chin. The move was so like Egon it sent a shiver along Peter's back. The intense gaze studied Peter for a long time.  </p>
<p>"My name is Captain Silas Christopher.  You've been bought to be my record keeper.  Do you have a name?"  </p>
<p>"Peter Venkman."  The first civil lines he had heard in nearly two days, coupled with the frighteningly familiar voice was Peter's undoing and he charged forward.  "I'm not a slave. I'm here by ... misfortune."  </p>
<p>"It's of no concern to me.  You were legally purchased." A ruthlessness that Egon would have never been capable of entered the man's stance. "Know this, Venkman, on my ship slaves are treated well and fairly.  I pay a part of the take and if you're a hard worker you can eventually buy your freedom.  But try to escape or conduct any treason against myself or my crew and your punishment will be as many lashes as you can take without dying. Do you understand that?"  </p>
<p>Peter took a hesitant step backwards, shocked at the statement, and the typical analyic manner in which it was delivered. "Completely,"  he said quietly.  </p>
<p>"Good.  And since we understand each other, there will be no more need for these ropes." The captain pulled a large knife from behind his back and cut Peter's restraints.  </p>
<p>Rubbing circulation back into his stiff wrists, Peter said carefully, "I'm not very good on water.  And I don't know anything about sailing."  </p>
<p>"You'll learn."  </p>
<p>With that Christopher swung easily into the saddle and extended his hand down for Peter.  </p>
<p>"Uh, maybe I should just walk behind you?"  Peter suggested wryly.  </p>
<p>For a second he thought the Captain would think it was a trick to attempt escape.  But something in his manner must have allied that thought, as the man asked in a dry tone, "I suppose you're not good on horses, either?"  </p>
<p>Peter only shrugged helplessly.  With a sigh, Christopher motioned impatiently with his hand, leaving Peter no option except to take it.  Shoving his foot reluctantly into the silver edged stirrup, Peter let himself be hauled up and onto the back of the mare.  As the animal moved off, Peter grabbed around the Captain's middle for balance.  The strength under his arms somehow made him feel better.  <br/>3<br/>4<br/>The ship was small compared to the massive galleys that crowded the port, pulling against her tethers like an eager hunting hawk.  Peter slipped off the horse with a slight assist from Christopher's strong arm.  Several men shouted greetings from the top of the ship.  It was too dark for Peter to make out any details.  </p>
<p>"Nice place,"  Peter said nervously.  </p>
<p>"Welcome to the Star of Ireland." The pride in the Captain's voice eased some of Peter's tension.  </p>
<p>"Probably the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy,"  Peter quipped.  </p>
<p>His statement earned him a confused stare.  "Galaxy? Is that French?"  </p>
<p>"No,"  Peter sighed, quickly brought back to his new reality.  "It's nonsense."  </p>
<p>"Um,"  was Christopher's only reaction.  </p>
<p>Peter followed him up the narrow plank.  At the top a strong arm helped them over the last step. Another familiar face met his as he looked up.  </p>
<p>"Winston!"  he cried, unable to stop his words.  </p>
<p>Christopher stared at him, as did the other man. Peter could almost imagine Christopher thoughts of returning damaged merchandise. To his surprise the Captain merely asked, "Someone else you know?"  </p>
<p>"Yes,"  Peter answered.  </p>
<p>"Will there be many more?"  Christopher inquired levelly.  </p>
<p>The thought stopped Peter cold, sending an incredible wave of loneliness through him.  It was bad enough to be standing next to the images of two people who shared his life, but he knew that Ray's double would be the hardest to take.  </p>
<p>Sensing that Christopher was waiting he answered honestly. "One more."  </p>
<p>The definitive answer took the Captain by surprise but he recovered quickly.  Motioning toward the black seaman, he said, "This is Able."  The man smiled welcome at Peter.  "He can't talk.  His tongue was slit for disobedience before he came into my possession."  </p>
<p>"What ho, Captain?"  </p>
<p>The final expected voice called out and Peter froze, not wanting to look but unable not to.  Peter gazed up at the image of Ray Stantz, long auburn hair pulled back and tied away from the cheerful face. Closing his eyes, Peter took a deep breath to steady his reality.  He didn't care what the Captain thought at this point.  </p>
<p>"So, you've found the last one,"  the man observed.  </p>
<p>"A new toy, Captain?"  Ray's voice questioned.  </p>
<p>Something in the tone snapped Peter's eyes open.  As with Egon's twin the differences close up were very evident, even more so with this man.  There was contempt and hate, aimed, it seemed at the whole world, in the amber eyes.  A sharp scar ran down one cheek, just missing the right eye.  </p>
<p>"A new bookman,"  Christopher corrected calmly, not rising to the mocking.  "Able will take you to see the cook.  Get something on those rope burns and some food.  Have the other injuries looked at also."  </p>
<p>"How did you know there were other injuries?"  Peter forced himself to ignore the Ray clone.  </p>
<p>"I've never known a slave to go to the block without a few... misfortunes."  He stepped back and cocked his head at Peter.  "You're too tall for most of the men's clothing.  Come to my cabin and I'll find you something."  </p>
<p>There was a snort from the auburn haired man but he retreated in silence at the hard look the Captain gave him. Peter watched him go with a sense of relief, feeling none of the compulsion to stay with him as he had with Christopher.  </p>
<p>"Watch out for Nathan,"  Christopher warned.  "He's had a rough life and he'd like to make everyone else's just as rough."  </p>
<p>The cook, Smoky, was friendly and quick, commenting jokingly about Peter's cuts.  Able winched in sympathy at Peter's hissing breath against the smelly ointment.  Peter's enthusiasm for the simple hardtack and stew endeared him to the older man and amused Able.  </p>
<p>A short time later he found himself standing in front of an ornate wooden door.  Able knocked and Christopher's voice called him in.  </p>
<p>"Thanks, Wins... Able,"  Peter smiled as his shipmate patted him on the shoulder.  </p>
<p>The tall captain was standing over a trunk in front of an open port, his shirt off against the still night air.  Peter's eyes narrowed at the ragged scar that ran the length of Christopher's back. Idly he noted that Christopher was more tanned than Egon would ever attempt to be.  The Captain turned and laid a stack of clothing near Peter on a small polished desk.  </p>
<p>"Let me see your hands,"  he ordered.  </p>
<p>"I washed Mom, really,"  Peter remarked, trying desperately to find something to joke about.  </p>
<p>The comment gained him a quiet chuckle from the man. "Mothers must be the same everywhere,"  the captain returned.  </p>
<p>Peter put out both hands.  Christopher ran a slender finger over each palm.  A shock raced through Peter's system and he jerked away. Christopher regarded him from narrowed eyes.  </p>
<p>"I'm sorry,"  Peter stammered, unsure of what he was apologizing for.  "I didn't..."  </p>
<p>"No callouses. You'll need a pair of gloves."  Christopher turned, rummaged for a moment then held out a pair of heavy cloth gloves.  "They may be tight.  Your fingers are larger than mine."  </p>
<p>"Good thing or you'd never be able to build..." Peter stopped himself before going any further.  </p>
<p>"We sail at dawn tide," Christopher continued without noticing his slip.  "Rest tonight.  Tomorrow we will attend the books."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ray reached Peter first, Egon close behind, both kneeling on the cold bare floor.  </p>
<p>"Peter?"  he questioned quietly.  </p>
<p>Behind them Winston grabbed McGil, hauling him to a chair and forcing him down.  Egon barely noticed as he extended a shaky hand to Peter's throat, lips tight in worry.  </p>
<p>"Egon?"  Winston demanded.  </p>
<p>"He's alive," Egon breathed. Taking Peter by the shoulders he shook him gently.  "Peter! Doctor Venkman!  Peter!"  </p>
<p>Egon released him, pulling back and staring at the limp body.  Silence claimed the room as Egon lost himself in thought. Peter's body was here, but Egon did not feel he was, not like times the other man had been unconscious. There were several very frightening implications in that line of thought.  </p>
<p>"Egon?"  </p>
<p>He became aware that Ray was talking to him.  "A hospital might..."  </p>
<p>"A hospital won't help,"  McGil said with more force than Egon thought him capable.  </p>
<p>Egon tore his eyes away from the pale slack features of his friend.  Michael McGil glanced fearfully at them.  He had pushed out of the chair, though Winston was close behind him. The man wrung his hands.  </p>
<p>Egon exchanged a quick look with Ray, patted him on the shoulder and stood.  The man withdrew, backing into Winston in an effort to escape the blonde Ghostbuster.  Stopping only inches from McGil, Egon's hands clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to grab the man.  </p>
<p>But his voice was surprisingly steady.  "You conducted a deal with a netherbeing for physical comfort and material goods. In exchange you delivered Peter to it for it's use. That much is obvious.  Now," Egon's voice deepened, "you are going to tell us how the deal was arranged, who it was arranged with and what he has done to Peter."  </p>
<p>There had been no promise of pain or imprisonment, no treat, yet the tone of Egon's order left no room for McGil to deny his demand.  With Winston pressed tight against his back there was no place left for him to try to run.  But he had one final play left.  </p>
<p>"I can't,"  he whimpered.  "It'll kill me."  </p>
<p>Egon's hands flashed out, grabbed McGil's shirt front, crushing the cheap material.  "You can help us, and rid yourself of the demon's threat or you can suffer his wrath when I tell him that you aided us."  </p>
<p>Winston whistled low, impressed by the threat.  </p>
<p>"You wouldn't!"  McGil insisted desperately.  </p>
<p>"Yes,"  Egon said levelly.  "I would."  </p>
<p>McGil started talking, fast and in a higher octave than before.  "It's not a he; it's a she.  Her name is Renasta."  </p>
<p>Egon glanced at Ray, but the occultist shook his head. "It's a new one on me."  </p>
<p>"The terms?"  Egon asked.  </p>
<p>"She wanted someone famous and in good standing,"  McGil explained, all fight gone.  "You know, charity work, that sort of thing."  </p>
<p>"What did she do to Peter?"  Ray demanded, not moving away from the unconscious Ghostbuster.  </p>
<p>"I.. I don't know,"  McGil cried.  </p>
<p>Winston took a step closer and the man shrank back.  "I don't!"  he screamed.  </p>
<p>Egon lay a restraining hand on Winston's arm, felt the muscles bunched with tension under the light blue jumpsuit. The brown eyes blazed into Egon's blue, gradually softening as he sensed Egon's distress.  </p>
<p>"You can tell us how to call her, can't you!" Winston suggested strongly.  </p>
<p>McGil nodded.  </p>
<p>"Let's get this show on the road."  Winston shoved McGil down into the chair.  "Sing that mother up, sucker.  We'll deal with the lady and get..."  </p>
<p>"I don't think that would be the best way to handle the situation,"  Egon said calmly.  </p>
<p>Winston's eyes narrowed impatiently.  "Why not?"  </p>
<p>"Because,"  Ray called from Peter's side,  "we don't know enough about the entity."  </p>
<p>"Precisely,"  Egon agreed.  </p>
<p>"We could bring her in and trap her but that's no guarantee that Peter would wake up,"  Ray said sadly.  </p>
<p>Egon turned back, holding out his PKE meter toward Peter. Reluctantly, he voiced his worse fears.  "I don't believe it is a matter of waking Peter.  According to these readings, Peter is not "here.""  </p>
<p>"Oh, man, you want to explain that one?"  Winston asked.  </p>
<p>Ray rose, peered over Egon's shoulder.  "Wow,"  he said softly.  "Physical readings but no aura."  </p>
<p>"Are you saying that she stole his soul?"  Winston asked hesitantly. </p>
<p>Egon slammed the meter shut, the move so uncharacteristic that his two companions jumped.  "We can't assertain the answer to that until we know more about the entity."  </p>
<p>Whirling, he took command. "Winston, I think the police might be interesting in knowing Mr. McGil perpetrated a kidnapping and attempted murder.  "  </p>
<p>"They won't me able to hold him unless Peter can testify," Ray reminded them grimly.  </p>
<p>"True,"  Egon agreed quietly.  "But it will keep him out of our way for a few hours. Ray, you return to headquarters. We'll need information on the entity.  Is it safe to move Peter or is he bound to this location?"  </p>
<p>To their surprise, McGil went quietly, knowing no amount of pleading was going to help. With smiles of encouragement, Ray and Winston left Egon alone with their companion.  </p>
<p>For the first time in the eight hours that Peter had been missing, Egon let his mind go blank for a moment, sagging into the battered chair.  He told himself firmly that he should feel better now that they had located Peter, that it was only a matter of trapping the entity and forcing it to release their friend.  He closed his eyes against the sight of Peter's too still body. The litany he kept repeating didn't help, his mind began to play through the horrors his friend could be suffering. And one fear kept returning, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it - the fear they wouldn't be able to get Peter back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You're feeling better I understand,"  Captain Christopher said as he opened the door, leading them into his cabin.  </p>
<p>Trying to smile, Peter nodded.  "Better may be wishful thinking.  Though I did eat breakfast and it seems to be in the right place and not all over the deck."  </p>
<p>In surprising sympathy, Christopher squeezed his arm.  "It takes some men awhile to get adjusted to the constant motion and lack of horizon."  </p>
<p>Peter closed his eyes, not against the nausea that had been his constant companion for nearly a week but against the wealth of memories the almost scientific explanation invoked, against the warmth the contact brought, warmth he was both drawn to and repelled from.  </p>
<p>"Are you up to this?"  Christopher asked, concerned by his silence. "The books have waited this long, a few more days won't do any harm."  </p>
<p>"No, I'd rather stay up," Peter said more sharply than he intended.  The concern from the man was too familiar, reminding him of other times when Egon...  </p>
<p>While he kept reminding himself that the man in front of him was not Egon Spengler, the sight and sound let him relax for the first time in what seemed like forever. He had spent the past week in misery, surrounded by uncaring strangers. Only Able had given him any help, and that was fleeting as work called him away.  The Star of Ireland was navigating the narrow straits around the small out islands and it had kept all hands busy.  </p>
<p>"Very well,"  Christopher agreed, carefully.  </p>
<p>The tall blonde motioned to the straight backed chair at the small desk. Peter sat down, watching the Captain bend to retrieve a set of ledgers from under the wide bunk.  The man even moved like Egon, gracefully, easily.  Peter turned away, unable to escape the memories that he had hoped would make him feel better; instead they only served to reinforce the building thoughts that he would never get home.  </p>
<p>"Venkman?"  Christopher called, for what was obviously the second time.  </p>
<p>"Yeah?"  Peter shook himself, trying to force himself to business.  </p>
<p>Anger entered the azure eyes.  "I have asked if you were well, if so then I have had enough of this moping.  I have tried to be understanding..."  </p>
<p>Peter's thoughts of staying in the man's good graces disappeared under the strict voice.  His own temper, fed by frustration and fear exploded.  He came to his feet, slamming his hand on the desk.  </p>
<p>"Understanding!  How could you understand?  No matter where you go, at least you're in the right world and time!"  </p>
<p>Peter realized what he had let slip as he watched the Captain's eyes widened in shock. It was too late to try to deny it so he simply stared at the bigger man in defiance.  </p>
<p>Slowly something else filled the Captain's expression.  </p>
<p>"What are you?"  Christopher whispered, though there was no fear in the deep voice.  "You speak of other worlds and times.."  </p>
<p>Suddenly very tired, Peter sighed and sat back down.  "I'm just a very lost traveller."  </p>
<p>"You have no reason to fear me,"  Christopher assured Peter. "I don't believe in superstition, only in science."  </p>
<p>The enthusiasm in Christopher's handsome face held Peter with remembrance.  Finally, not wanting to think about home, he forced a small smile.  </p>
<p>"It's not much of a story,"  he answer vaguely.  "Catch me on a night when there's nothing on the tube and maybe I'll bore you with it."  </p>
<p>Without giving the Captain time to reply, he turned and opened one of the leather bound books.  "What's say we hit the books?"  </p>
<p>The sharp blue eyes continued to regard him with the familiar burning curiosity.  Gradually the gaze relented. Christopher moved forward and urged one slim book free from the stack, opened it.  </p>
<p>"This is the crew ledger.  The first column is by name and the second is percent of pay per journey.  I'll give you the newer names and the ones to remove."  </p>
<p>Peter nodded, leaning eagerly in to the work, anything to keep his mind off his situation.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I've got her!"  Ray called from the computer propped on the small kitchen table.  </p>
<p>Egon was out from under the end table in a flash, Winston dropped the cables he was helping string and followed close behind.  Ray was staring glumly at "Rich's Encyclopedia of Gods and Demi-Gods."  When the worried amber eyes met with Egon's, he knew the news was not good.  With a valiant effort Ray tried to sound encouraging.  </p>
<p>"There's good news and there's bad news," he said in the old pattern they all joked with.  </p>
<p>"The bad news first," Egon ordered quietly.  </p>
<p>"The bad news is the nature of the lady,"  Ray started. "Renasta is an old Sri Lankan goddess who specializes in corrupting souls."  </p>
<p>"Corrupting?"  Winston questioned.  </p>
<p>"She takes a spirit and puts it into a situation that the person will find tempting.  It's usually someplace disorienting, someplace the person can be easily led in."  </p>
<p>"I can't imagine Peter being easily led anywhere,"  Winston commented.  </p>
<p>"What happens,"  Egon asked hesitantly, "when the person yields to the temptation?"  </p>
<p>Ray took a deep breath, his voice a little shaky.  "If the person gives into the temptation, Renasta feds off the resulting... moral degradation."  He swallowed, paling as he tried to continue.  "The victim usually... usually.."  </p>
<p>"Dies,"  Egon finished, knowing the answer without seeing the book.  At Ray's barely perceptible nod, he continued, "Probably through an action caused by giving into the temptation."  </p>
<p>"That,"  Ray added grimly, "or through madness.  The new setting is so different from their normal reality that they can't adjust... and take their own lives."  </p>
<p>Silence claimed the small group, settling like a oppressive wave of cold. </p>
<p>Finally, Winston asked a question that took the other two by surprise.  "And who decides what's immoral?" Egon and Ray looked puzzled.  "Well, face it, guys, according to ancient Sri Lankan standards having goat for lunch could be a no-no."  </p>
<p>"Oh,"  Ray understood what he was after. "The morals that are corrupted are the ones held by the person."  </p>
<p>"Whatever Peter would find reprehensible in his normal time and place,"  Egon said, standing to walk to his unconscious friend's side.  </p>
<p>"Peter won't give in," Ray said firmly. "He just wouldn't."  </p>
<p>Egon forced himself to smile.  "You are most likely correct, Raymond.  What's the good news?"  </p>
<p>Ray's expression picked up.  "A couple of things.  One, it doesn't matter what happens to the body on this side of the spell.  So, we can take Peter home.  And there's a spell in here for calling Renasta which means we don't need McGil."  </p>
<p>"Lieutenant Shanney agreed to charge him on attempted kidnapping," Winston said. "But they'll have to release him on bond."  </p>
<p>Sighing and forcing himself away from Peter with a quick touch to one warm shoulder, Egon came back to his two remaining teammates.  "I don't believe we have to worry about Mr. McGil interfering with us. I believe he has learned his lesson concerning dabbling in the occult.  We can follow up on the charges once we have retrieved Peter."  </p>
<p>Silence claimed the small group, Ray and Winston once again waiting for Egon's move.  "Let's take Peter home."  </p>
<p>As if he'd just granted Ray's fondest wish, a wide smile spread across the pale face.  "Yeah!"  He sprang up.  "It'll be better once we have him home."  </p>
<p>Something within him demanded that he deny the statement, but Egon fought it away.  The hope on Ray's face was deep and comforting.  And there had been many times when hope had been the only thing that had kept them going.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter leaned on the railing next to Able, blinking against the too bright sun at the barely visible port that lined the round bay.  </p>
<p>"Well, since this isn't Kansas, I'm betting that's the Emerald City,"  he commented.  </p>
<p>There was no response; Peter hadn't expected any.  One thing he had learned quickly in his strange exile was that wit depended on shared experiences, and in this world he had none. But the insane remarks that sometimes made his friends smile was just as much to help their sanity.  Now, he clung to the humor with a desperate tenacity.  Perhaps it was the desperation, sensed by his dark companion, that on occasion gained him a pitying smile from Able.  </p>
<p>Turning away from the sorrowful memories, he thought about how much he was looking forward to being on solid ground again. This was their second docking since his arrival, but the first had been only for one tide and he had been too sick to move. Still, Christopher had paid him for his first shipment.  A single coin to normal crew's five and Able's three.  It had been discouraging.  </p>
<p>While laying in the short hard bunk, Peter had plenty of time to think.  One thing became crystal clear, technology was not the way home.  Even if he could figure out some kind of signal device, it would mean spending all his time ashore; added to that was the impossibly long odds of finding a smithy with the ability to build something he could use. That left one means of getting home, the means that had brought him -occult means. That meant finding someone who knew and paying them. At one coin a shipment, it was going to be a long voyage.  </p>
<p>Peter smiled.  There were, however, other ways of raising money.  </p>
<p>"Looks nice, huh?"  </p>
<p>Peter felt the hairs go up on his neck, spun to find Nathan standing too close to his back.  He would have never thought it possible to distrust so strongly someone who looked like Ray Stantz.  </p>
<p>"Too bad you'll be chained aboard,"  Nathan gloated.  </p>
<p>Peter's eyes widened.  "What?"  </p>
<p>Nathan laughed at his dismay.  "Aye, bucko, first ship out, slaves are chained aboard.  Can't have 'em jumping."  </p>
<p>Glancing at Able, Peter caught the apology in the dark eyes just before the black man looked uncomfortably away. Helplessness surged in him, fired by anger.  He whirled toward Nathan, closing with the man.  </p>
<p>"Who gave that order?"  he demanded.  </p>
<p>"I did,"  the Captain's bass voice sounded from behind him.  </p>
<p>Taking a deep breath to calm his temper, Peter turned slowly away from the smiling Nathan.  Christopher was standing very close, arms crossed in front of him.  </p>
<p>Before Peter could form his arguments, the Captain asked quietly, "What guarantee do I have that if you go ashore, you'll not try to escape?"  </p>
<p>"Because, since I can't get home, there's no place else I'd rather be than with you."  The truth was out before Peter could think of a better lie.  </p>
<p>The statement caused the tall blonde to stiffen, surprise almost making him take a step back.  Too late to take the bold statement back, Peter again found himself merely staring in defiance.  Behind him, Nathan chuckled.  </p>
<p>"With him?"  the light voice said sarcastically. "Don't you mean under him?"  </p>
<p>The meaning of several of Nathan's leering remarks hit Peter for the first time .  A slow boil started in his blood at the implication, he started to turn.  A strong hand on his arm stopped him.  Before him, Christopher looked over his shoulder at the ship's navigator.  Peter patiently waited for the explosion, for the lashing the man would get from the Captain for even suggesting something like that.  </p>
<p>"That's enough, Nathan," Christopher said blandly.  </p>
<p>Confused, which was a state that he was getting use to, Peter found himself caught by the searching azure eyes.  After a moment, Christopher smiled very slightly.  Without wanting to, Peter returned the smile.  </p>
<p>"Very well, you can come with me."  </p>
<p>"Thank you..."  Peter started.  </p>
<p>The man stepped closer, power radiating in his stance and hardening his voice.  "Know this, Peter, if this is a trick and you try to escape, I will kill you."  </p>
<p>Though Peter held his position, the sudden shift of emotions and the very real threat from the bigger man left him speechless.  </p>
<p>"Yes, sir,"  he finally mumbled.  </p>
<p>Another shift, another smile.  "We'll go ashore at four bells.  I'll met you at the plank."  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Retrieving Peter will entail more than simply trapping Renasta,"  Egon informed the small group quietly.  </p>
<p>Janine had pulled a chair next to the cot that Peter lay on.  Shyly, she reached out and took his hand.  </p>
<p>"Are you sure he shouldn't be in a hospital?"  she asked softly.  </p>
<p>Appreciating her worry but too concerned with planning to do anything about it, Egon said, "Physically he will be fine in this dimension as long as he remains well in Renasta's dimension."  </p>
<p>He watched Ray join Janine, rubbing her shoulders, something he would have never done had the situation not been so serious. Slimer hovered over both of them, wringing his hands.  The little ghost didn't understand the entire situation; he did understand that some "bad thing" had taken Peter but that was the best Winston could do.  </p>
<p>Winston walked over to the others, placing a hand on each of Ray and Janine's shoulders. For one short instant, Egon wished one of the others would offer him the same assurance. He shook the thought away. went back to the computer, pulled up what he could from an older book in Hindu.  </p>
<p>A strong hand touched his neck. "Egon,"  Winston said sympathetically.  "You've been at this nearly eighteen hours. Take a break."  </p>
<p>"Peter..."  </p>
<p>"Needs us in good shape, not asleep on our feet,"  Winston said lightly.  </p>
<p>While he would never admit it aloud, Egon was so tired that the screen was blurring.  Nodding, he agreed, then added, "He shouldn't be left alone."  </p>
<p>"He won't be,"  Ray pledged.  </p>
<p>"We'll take it in shifts,"  Janine added her opinion.  "I'm for one."  </p>
<p>"Two,"  Winston spoke up.  </p>
<p>"Three,"  Ray said.  </p>
<p>Egon smiled, first and fourth would get the longest amount of sleep, and he had been forced into fourth.  His smile faded into a frown.  "I'd prefer to start now."  Looking apolitically at Janine, he explained, "I'm too involved to sleep now."  </p>
<p>"Egon..."  Winston warned.  </p>
<p>Holding up his hand, Egon said, "I promise to just sit here and relax."  </p>
<p>The other three looked at each other unconvinced, then Winston nodded.  "Okay, but,"  he came across and unplugged the computer keyboard, "I'll take this just to be sure."  </p>
<p>Forcing himself not to look chagrined, Egon stood and moved to the vacated chair next to Peter.  Convinced, the other's started out with mumbled good nights.  Egon barely heard them, his attention going to his old friend. They had put Peter in a robe, trying to make him look comfortable.  The illusion was shattered by the myriad of wires and equipment that surrounded the slender body.  </p>
<p>Taking the same hand that Janine had held, Egon was comforted by the warmth.  Peter looked so disarmingly normal that Egon almost expected him to yawn and sit up.  Held at bay too long his emotions now came to the fore with startling intensity, forcing him to face the enormity of his loss if they could not rescue Peter.  His chest tightened to the point of pain, his throat closed and tears came into his eyes.  </p>
<p>His hand tightened on Peter's.  "Please, Peter," he whispered.  "Be careful.  Wherever you are, be very, very careful."  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The port town was small, dirty, and noisy.  It also contained more conmen, muggers, whores and card games than Peter could ever remember seeing in one place.  It was an adult version of Disney World, with something exciting around ever corner.  Peter was intrigued, appalled, and amused.  </p>
<p>"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy,"  Peter quoted as he walked obediently beside Christopher.  </p>
<p>On this rare occasion his quip gained him a smile.  "Truly spoken,"  the Captain agreed.  </p>
<p>The fact that he meant it sincerely and not as a joke worried Peter but he gamely asked, "What's your pleasure, Chris?" The double meaning in the question caught him a second later.  </p>
<p>To his relief the Captain let the statement pass, picking up on the name instead.  "Chris?"  he repeated as if trying it out.  </p>
<p>Memories of a similar voice, with a similar question caused Peter to stumble in the cobblestone street.  Many years past and many dimensions away, Egon had suffered the same reaction to "Spengs." Peter realized belatedly that to call his owner and captain something so personal was a serious and possibly dangerous breach of his servitude.  He waited, not daring to look up from his study of the uneven stones.  </p>
<p>A deep, full laugh drew his eyes away from his path.  In the waning sunlight he caught the glimmer of amusement in the stunning azure eyes.  </p>
<p>"Peter,"  Christopher said lightly, "if you wish to call me something while we are not on the ship, why not use my good Christian name?"  </p>
<p>Frowning, Peter said, "Silas?  Sorry, buddy, it doesn't fit you."  </p>
<p>Christopher gave into his amusement, laughing loud and long. Peter watched in amazement. One of the things he most loved to do was get Egon to laugh; in Peter's opinion the physicist didn't do it nearly often enough.  To gain it so easily in this version of his friend was a delight.  For a moment, Peter forgot his situation, forgot his mission and stood listening to the sound he always had to work so hard for.  He joined in, throwing an arm around the other man and urging him toward the nearest tavern.  </p>
<p>"You shouldn't take things so serious,"  he kidded.  "Come on, let's go partake of some of this sin.  Think we can find a poker game?"  </p>
<p>"What's poker?"  Christopher asked innocently.  </p>
<p>Peter smiled very wide.  "I think I'm gonna like this place."  </p>
<p>Christopher came back from what passed for a bar, in reality two long rough planks balanced atop two wooden barrels, sat down in a flimsy looking chair and leaned back against the outside wall.  Peter glanced over his cards, smiling in confidence. The Captain merely raised an eyebrow at him and sipped his mug of beer.  </p>
<p>There was one more round of betting before Peter laid down his cards with a flourish.  "Gentlemen, aces over tens."  </p>
<p>He reached for the pot of coins.  A rough hand landed on his wrist.  "Nay, mate,"  a course voice informed him.  "I'll be takin' that."  </p>
<p>Startled, Peter found himself staring at a heavy set, short man with a long beard trimmed with red bows.  The sight was slightly ridiculous and Peter almost laughed, until he looked into the man's eyes.  The narrowed eyes held contempt and menace as nasty as any he'd ever seen.  </p>
<p>"Why should I let you take my money?"  Peter asked reasonably.  </p>
<p>"Because you been cheatin', bucko,"  the man said hotly.  </p>
<p>Jerking his arm free, Peter straightened, pulling up to his full six feet, staring down at the other man.  "I don't have to cheat,"  he said lowly.  "You're just a rotten player."  </p>
<p>The man moved, his hand going toward his belt.  Peter fell back, drew his arm to take a swing.  He never had the chance. The man jerked, his mouth dropping open in a wordless start of surprise; he slumped forward over the table. Peter's eyes widened at the large bloody hole in the center of the man's back.  Stunned, trying to figure out what was happening, Peter looked up from the dead man to find Christopher standing there casually wiping blood from his sword.  </p>
<p>"You killed him,"  Peter stammered.  </p>
<p>"Yes,"  Christopher answered blandly.  "He had planned to kill you."  </p>
<p>"I could have taken care of him,"  Peter argued, anger filling his voice.  </p>
<p>The blue eyes connected with his, cold and dispassionate. "I didn't want my property damaged."  </p>
<p>"You didn't have..."  </p>
<p>Christopher stepped forward and took his arm.  Peter jerked away. The glare that Christopher gave him chilled his bones.  </p>
<p>"We are leaving now,"  Christopher said firmly.  "There will be no further discussion."  </p>
<p>Peter's anger simmered but his sense of self-perservation overrode it. Breaking the hold those demanding eyes had on him, he dropped his gaze, nodding.  Christopher lead the way out, not checking to see if he was following.  As they stepped into the moonlit night, Christopher grabbed his arm again and started walking faster.  </p>
<p>Again Peter jerked away.  </p>
<p>"We're being followed,"  Christopher hissed intently.  "Now keep moving."  </p>
<p>The urgency in the bass voice stopped Peter's protest. Peter fell into step beside his captain. They rounded a corner, the Star in sight at the end of the pier.  </p>
<p>Light exploded in Peter's vision, then darkness, filled with Christopher's cry of alarm.  Peter hit the wet boards with a solid thump, lay still for a moment, blinking against the pain in his head.  The clang of metal on metal brought him around. Struggling into a sitting position, Peter watched Christopher fencing with three similarly armed men.  Peter's thoughts took a moment to rejoin the rest of him and he watched the uneven fight with distant admiration.  The tall blonde moved like a dancer, made his three opponents look like clumsy apes.  Gradually it dawned on Peter how lopsided the odds were; he struggled to his feet.  There was muffled curse from Christopher as blood flowed from a slash on his arm.  </p>
<p>"Hang on, buddy,"  Peter yelled, charging forward.  </p>
<p>Two of the men whirled toward him.  Peter grabbed a baling hook from the rows of cotton stacked nearby, swinging hard with the handle and dropping the first man.  The other charged, sword singing at him; Peter ducked, foot lashing out, sinking deep into the man's stomach.  The man fell without a sound.  The crash of swords paused as the Captain's opponent realized that he was fighting alone. Christopher took a single step forward and the man's courage deserted him. Turning he disappeared into a narrow passage between stacks of sugar cane.  </p>
<p>Peter made to persue him, was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.  </p>
<p>Christopher commanded,  "Let him go."  </p>
<p>Frowning Peter saw the full lips tightened as Christopher clamped his hand over the bleeding wound.  Peter immediately forgot his pursuit. He slipped a hand under the bigger man's elbow.  </p>
<p>"Easy.  Let's get you back to the boat."  </p>
<p>"Ship,"  Christopher corrected.  "And I think that's an excellent idea."  </p>
<p>Ten minutes later they were settled in the galley, Peter hovering nervously as the cook and apparently part-time doctor examined the Captain's still bleeding wound.  Smoky smiled. "Not too bad, sir.  A few stitches, no more."  </p>
<p>He reached in to the small kit he had used to tend Peter and withdrew a hooked needle and thin black thread.  After threading the needle he grabbed the Captain's arm, ready to start.  Peter put a restraining hand on his shoulder.  </p>
<p>"Hold it!  Aren't you going to clean the wound and the needle?"  he questioned.  </p>
<p>"Clean?"  Smoky asked suspiciously.  "What for?"  </p>
<p>"Oh, man,"  Peter muttered to himself.  "Get me some peroxide.. uh, whiskey and a clean bandage."  </p>
<p>Smoky looked at Christopher, obviously thinking that Peter was crazy.  The Captain returned his look for a moment, then turned thoughtful eyes to Peter.  Peter met the gaze steadily.  </p>
<p>Christopher nodded.  "Get him the supplies, Smoky."  </p>
<p>Mumbling under his breath, Smoky started looking for the requested items.  </p>
<p>"And honey,"  Peter added hastily.  </p>
<p>Thirty minutes later, both Peter and his owner were wet with sweat.  But Christopher's arm was cleaned and wrapped.  </p>
<p>"Where did you learn this technique?"  Christopher asked.  </p>
<p>The wording of the inquiry brought a fleeting moment of remembrance but it was gone before Peter fully noticed it, all his attention drawn to the man under his touch.  "Huh, old herbalist told me about the honey.  The other, the cleaning, hum, that's going to come around in about 200 years, just after the..."  </p>
<p>He staggered to a stop, found Christopher again staring at him in amazement. This time the gaze held a surprising hint of amusement.  Peter wasn't sure what had prompted the emotion; perhaps Christopher had finally decided that Peter was nuts and it was best to humor him.  With a weary smile, Peter found himself wondering the same thing.  </p>
<p>Still kneeling, Peter turned to lay the supplies down. "Peter!  You're hurt."  </p>
<p>The concern snapped him back around to meet worried blue eyes.  He was lost in familiar care, in crystal blue and gold, in old memories, in loss and discovery. He shivered, surging to his feet and putting a hand on the lump at the back of his head.  </p>
<p>"It's nothing, only a bump."  He had to change the mood. "What did those guys want anyway? Think they were friends of the other one?"  </p>
<p>Standing, moving too close for Peter's comfort, Christopher took his arm and started them up the stairs.  "You."  </p>
<p>Peter emerged into the starry night.  But for once he didn't notice the black and diamonds above him. "Me? Why?"  </p>
<p>Christopher took him by both arms, turned him so that they stood face to face.  "You don't know?  Word of an educated, handsome, white slave travels fast in the islands.  Whichever Master sent them wanted you, maybe just for his bookman, maybe for his bunk, probably for both."  </p>
<p>The night that had been too dark and too quiet now filled with a chorus of sounds, gentle waves against wood, creaks and the soft ring of distant ships bells, the whisper of breezes and the nearness of Christopher's deep voice.  Peter swallowed, feeling the heat from the hands on his arms.  The loneliness that constantly haunted him returned full fold, only the tall man's strength holding it at bay.  </p>
<p>"Do you want me in your bunk?"  Peter heard the question, knew it was his voice, knew he hadn't meant to ask it.  </p>
<p>"Yes, very much," Christopher's deep voice was almost a caress.  </p>
<p>Everything was confused.  Peter slipped away, angry without knowing why. "I belong to you,"  he stated sharply.  "Why don't you just take me?"  </p>
<p>The anger was reflected in Christopher's night-darkened eyes. "What makes you think I won't?"  Before Peter could respond, Christopher's challenging stance changed, became less hostile, more resigned.  "I do own you, Peter. Don't forget that. I can order you to do my bidding.  But I don't want an unwilling partner."  </p>
<p>With that, he turned and walked toward his cabin, leaving Peter with the night and his loneliness.  And a flicker of heat in his blood.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ray rubbed his neck briefly, then resumed his delicate work on the circuit board.  Egon smiled at his friend's back, admiring the steady hands that worked with almost religious reverence.  The smile faded as he looked down at his own hands on the keyboard; they were shaking with fatigue. Last night had been anything but peacefully, his dreams filled with images of Peter in pain, alone.  </p><p>"Egon,"  Ray called quietly.  </p><p>He shook himself away from the useless thought.  "Yes, Raymond?"  </p><p>"This is going to be at least another couple of hours,"  he explained.  "Why don't you go try to rest some more?"  </p><p>"Is it that obvious?"  Egon wondered aloud.  </p><p>Ray smiled gently at him.  "Yeah. You don't look very good."  </p><p>Nodding, Egon stood and stretched.  "I will attempt a short respite.  These passages are difficult and if not memorized completely, we will have no chance to deal with Renasta."  </p><p>His first instinct was to check on Peter but he forced himself to walk to the roof.  It seemed a natural haven and he frequently used it as a place to think. Now, he didn't want to think, only wanted a few minutes away from the dark thoughts that followed him, away from his fear of losing Peter.  </p><p>Taking a deep breath of the damp, dirty air, he sat down on the bench and ran his fingers over the wrought iron.  Mist clouded his vision as he remembered Peter buying the bench for him.  The parapsychologist's logic had been that if Egon were going to be on the roof at night, he could at least sit down and not wake the others.  He leaned his head back concentrating on the cold winter breeze. For just a minute, his fatigue won out over his worry and he dozed lightly.  </p><p>"Egon."  A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped.  </p><p>Winston stared down at him with an apologic smile. "Sorry, man, but it's getting cold out here and I don't want you getting sick on top of everything else.  Why don't you go..."  </p><p>"I'd rather just sit here for a little longer,"  Egon requested quietly.  </p><p>For just a second Winston considered the idea.  "With or without company?"  </p><p>Egon looked up into the dark, worried eyes.  The reality came to him again that sometimes, without meaning to, they left Winston out.  He had worried about it from the beginning, that Winston would only feel like hired help and not a part of the team.  It had been an unfounded worry; Winston had become a vital, irreplaceable part of the Ghostbusters.  And a trusted friend.  </p><p>Yet, Egon had to admit to himself the difference in what he felt toward Ray, Peter and Winston.  Had the three of them grown too close, too early?  They had formed a bond so tight that it was like a force of nature, unstoppable, unbreakable; so strong that others could only circle around it like moons around a planet.  </p><p>"Do you think, Winston,"  Egon heard himself ask, "that you can be too close to people?"  </p><p>The winter wind whispered around them, carried sounds of the street below.  Winston sighed, lay a hand on Egon's shoulder, squeezing quickly.  He sat down next to him with a long sigh.  </p><p>"It hurts, to lose someone, to even come close,"  Winston told him.  "But I've seen people who have tried to live without others; kids from the old neighborhood too hard to share life, too abused by others to allow themselves to feel. I've seen it, Egon."  </p><p>He paused and Egon looked up at him.  The dark eyes shone with friendship and sympathy.  "I've seen it, and it's not living, it's existing.  I wouldn't want to be that way."  </p><p>Egon nodded, knowing he was right, knowing that Peter would have said much the same. But knowing and feeling were frequently at odds.  Right now, all he understood was the pain that ripped through him at the thought of losing Peter. Winston's arm came around his shoulder, offering the only comfort he could and knowing that it was not much.  The big man came to his feet.  </p><p>"I'm sorry, Egon but I have to go; Ray needs a microchip and Janine is out getting us some lunch. Peter..."  </p><p>"I'll watch him,"  Egon said quickly, understanding.  </p><p>"I was thinking,"  Winston ventured, "that you could go get the chip.  You need to get out."  He frowned. "On the other hand, you look like shit. I'll be right back."  </p><p>Egon nodded, following his older teammate downstairs. Winston squeezed his arm when he paused at the door.  "It'll be okay, Egon.  There's nothing can beat you and Ray."  </p><p>"Your confidence is welcome, Winston, thank you."  </p><p>Walking slowly into the room, Egon refused to look at the still form.  The short nap had only succeeded in giving him a massive headache. Knowing he would be useless unless he got some sleep, he rose and moved to Peter's bed.  Sliding in carefully, though he knew nothing would wake his friend, Egon lay down and pulled the light cover over both of them.  </p><p>Laying with his hand stiffly under his cheek, he found himself staring at his unconscious companion, noting the handsome features. The tanned face was smoothed, lines gone; Peter looked to Egon much as he had when they had first met nearly fifteen years before.  A smile touched Egon's expression, faded to a blush as he thought of a certain old fairy tale.  </p><p>"I wish you were just sleeping,"  Egon whispered.  "I'd even be willing to try a kiss if it would get you back."  </p><p>The dark thoughts returned and he added in a choked voice, "I'd try anything to get you back."  </p><p>When next Egon woke it was to a quiet contentment, his arms filled with a warm living body.  Reality crashed in and he opened his eyes to find himself wrapped firmly around Peter. Despite his momentary surprise at the situation, Egon increased his hold around Peter's body for a moment.  Pushing away he violently swiped at his eyes.  A glance at the window added confusion to his swirl of emotions.  It was well pass dark. Shoving off the bed, he headed for the lab. Winston collided with him at the door.  </p><p>"Egon, you're awake."  </p><p>"I should have been awake several hours ago,"  Egon accused sharply.  </p><p>"That was my fault,"  Ray said from the lab door.  He refused to met Egon's hard glare.  "You needed the sleep. Anyway, it was taking longer to finish the device than I thought."  </p><p>Egon's anger vanished in the light of Ray's guilty concern, at the lines of fatigue aging the normally cheerful face.  In an gentle move, he took Ray in a loose, brief hug. "No harm done." Moving away he realized that he was indeed feeling much better. "It seems to have worked."  </p><p>Ray smiled in relief.  "Good.  The containment unit is ready."  </p><p>"It may be,"  Janine joined them from the stairs.  "But you guys aren't."  </p><p>"What?"  Egon asked.  </p><p>"You've had some sleep but not enough," she told him. "And Ray and Winston haven't had any."  </p><p>Three voices rose in protest.  </p><p>"Shuddup!"  Janine cut them off.  "Now, it's one A.M.  I'm going to roust you guys in five hours.  Got that.  Go."  </p><p>"Peter..."  Ray started.  </p><p>"I'll stay with Peter,"  Janine finished gently.  </p><p>Outmaneuvered the three Ghostbusters were left with no option except to head for the bunkroom.  </p><p>At exactly six Janine called them to eat. Thirty minutes later, the three ghostbusters stood dressed and armed. Peter lay against the back wall of the lab, circling the room was a maze of equipment including Egon's stabilizer and a modified trap. Staring at the trap Egon knew it would work, he and Ray were certain of their modifications.  The trap would hold Renasta in stasis.  That was where their plan fell apart. Egon had no idea how they would force her to return Peter.  </p><p>As if reading his thoughts, Winston asked, "What happens after we've got her?"  </p><p>"It is possible that once we have contained Renasta, the spell binding Peter will be broken and he will be returned to normal,"  Egon explained in what he hoped was a convincing manner.  </p><p>Ray passed the end of a cable over.  </p><p>"And if it doesn't?"  Winston continued to argue.  </p><p>"Then we will deal with that when the need arises."  </p><p>Winston looked up from the cable he was connecting.  "You don't know, do you?"  he asked gently.  </p><p>Egon sighed, bending down to connect the cable.  "It is just a theory."  </p><p>Winston patted him on the back.  "Well, big guy, we've followed you into hell on a lot less."  </p><p>The warmth in Winston's voice bolstered Egon's spirits.  He looked up to find both of his remaining teammates smiling at him.  Ray gave him a thumb's up.  </p><p>"That's it,"  Ray announced.  </p><p>"Positions,"  Egon said crisply, taking command.  </p><p>Winston moved to his left; Ray took the control board in back while Egon stepped forward to began reading the incantation.  He took a deep breath, nodded over his shoulder at Ray.  The myriad of sensors around Peter began to hum.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was, Peter observed calmly, an interesting experience. Christopher's admission of desire and the flicker of heat that had answered it had left him with a completely new way of looking at the man.  Now, instead of a harder, more commanding version of Egon, he saw a tall, striking figure that controlled with his assurance as much as his knowledge.  By the next day the captain had forgiven his anger, had pretended nothing was wrong, and perhaps, Peter ventured, there wasn't.  Not every man the Captain desired would have shared that feeling.  The man made no further reference to his blunt wish for Peter in his bed.  </p>
<p>Peter's first response had been relief.  But as the days stretched on with nothing more than business conversation between them, he began to long for the closeness that had been slowly building.  His eyes settled on the man occupying his thoughts.  </p>
<p>Christopher was standing near the starboard railing, talking with Nathan.  For the first time, seeing the two of them together did not remind Peter of his companions at home. All he saw was the royal blue silk shirt that clung to Christopher's muscled back, the black beeches that hugged his legs. The gold hair was tied loose, laying between the broad shoulders; a single gold earring sparkled in one ear.  </p>
<p>An elbow jostled his ribs and he turned away from the knot he'd been trying to master to find Able smiling at him.  The other slave made a sign that Peter had learned at their first port, a sign Able used for a night of pleasure.  A thought of denial touched his mind, fed by an unreasonable anger.  Both feelings faded, leaving him lost and confused.  </p>
<p>"No,"  he said a little shakily.  </p>
<p>Able only laughed, the chuckle coming deep from his throat. The amusement made Peter consider his reaction. The Star of Ireland was a short haul ship, which meant landfall came often; he had heard tales of six months at sea without sighting land. It wasn't hard to figure on those long hauls, the men would welcome anyone in their beds.  Even on the Star some of the men shared their bunks. As he sat with his eyes continually drawn to the blonde, he knew his own attraction was due not to desire for sex but to a need for someone to care, to chase away the sad thoughts of never getting home, to end his loneliness.  </p>
<p>He could still hear Able's soft laughter as he stood and crossed the deck.  Nathan regarded him neutrally as he approached. Christopher turned, expression open but nothing else showing. Peter only noticed how the blue sea and blue shirt highlighted the stunning eyes.  </p>
<p>"Captain,"  he said formally.  "I was wondering if you'd be interested in a chess game tonight?"  </p>
<p>Nathan sneered, casting a quick glance at Christopher. Peter frowned to himself.  Nathan was after something that the Star had to offer, maybe Christopher though Peter wasn't quite sure. He put the other man out of his mind as a pleased smile curved Christopher's full lips.  </p>
<p>"Certainly.  Just after mess,"  Christopher confirmed.  </p>
<p>As the captain turned away, Peter couldn't resist a gloating look at Nathan.  The hate that flared in the hard face told him he'd made a serious mistake. Nathan stalked away. Peter turned to rejoin Able.  A large hand on his arm stopped him.  </p>
<p>"Peter,"  Christopher cautioned.  "Don't antagonize Nathan. He's murdered before."  </p>
<p>"He can't be that good of a navigator,"  Peter realized something suddenly. "What's the real reason you keep him?"  </p>
<p>Christopher straightened, surprised by Peter's presumption. "He has his uses,"  he answered vaguely.  </p>
<p>Peter moaned.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Christopher chuckled, taking another sip of his wine.  "It would seem that I was misled on my purchase."  He leaned over the chessboard, moved a piece.  "You did say you could play the game?"  </p>
<p>Peter sipped his own cup of heady wine, realized he was at the bottom of the cup and held it out for more.  Christopher regarded him for a second, then poured the sweet liquor halfway up the silver goblet.  </p>
<p>"I can play,"  Peter protested, added wryly, "I just didn't say how well."  </p>
<p>Silence, comfortable and warm, claimed the room.  Peter forced his eyes to stay on the board, absently he made a move, and his attention going to the other man. Christopher had changed his shirt against the cooler night air, now wore black, rough cotton.  He was wearing his spectacles, peering over them at the board.  A slender hand reached for the rook, shifted it and glanced up at Peter, the glass reflecting the flickering lamplight.  Christopher smiled at him, azure eyes showing an inner fire that outshone the manmade one.  </p>
<p>"Checkmate,"  he said softly, voice deep and seductive.  </p>
<p>Peter was entranced by the wanton desire in the man's expression, by the promise in the slender hands.  He started to lean forward but Christopher leaned back, breaking the spell. Peter took a sharp breath, the sudden shift leaving him confused.  Vaguely, he wondered if he should have had so much wine.  </p>
<p>"So,"  he tried to sound normal, "when do we reach Port deSaul?"  </p>
<p>"Two days,"  Christopher answered easily.  When he again looked up, a wariness had entered his voice.  "You seem very impatient to get there."  </p>
<p>For a second Peter considered lying, decided that truth was more deserved.  "There's someone there I'd like to see."  </p>
<p>The wariness turned to suspicion.  "Peter, I warned..."  </p>
<p>Waving his hand non-chatantly, Peter said, "Not to worry, mon Capitan, I promise not to go anywhere without you."  </p>
<p>Christopher crossed his arms, now regarding his property with amusement.  "And where did you intend to go with me?"  </p>
<p>The conversation was started now and the wine made Peter continue.  "Able says there's a fortune teller in port."  </p>
<p>Surprise widened the lovely blue eyes.  "Surely you don't believe in that sort of thing?"  </p>
<p>"I have my reasons and don't call me Shirley,"  Peter returned.  </p>
<p>The ancient joke would have barely raised an eyebrow among his three fellow ghostbusters.  Christopher's reaction was a little more severe.  He opened his mouth to question Peter again, the joke hit him and he fell back into his chair with laughter.  </p>
<p>"Shirley!  That's a good joke." After another snicker, he added, "And a very good evasion."  </p>
<p>Peter shrugged.  The tension that had momentarily charged the room was gone, diffused by the juvenile humor.  The wine was taking hold now, spinning Peter into quiet sadness. Thoughts of home settled like a smothering cloak.  Peter closed his eyes, wishing he'd not had a third cup of the potent liquid. A hand closed over his.  </p>
<p>"Peter?"  </p>
<p>He looked up into sapphire, into a face he'd known forever on a person he didn't know at all.  The hand on his tightened, pulling him back into his new reality.  </p>
<p>"What is it, Peter?"  Christopher's voice was filled with concern.  </p>
<p>"Home."  The one word forced itself from between tight lips. Pulling his hand away, Peter surged to his feet.  "I have to go."  </p>
<p>Christopher rose, wrapping him in strong arms. The slight haze that Peter had been trying for vanished under the rolling waves of fear and desire.  His shoulder was pressed against Christopher's chest, Christopher's bass voice very close to his ear.  </p>
<p>"Let the Star be your home, Peter,"  Christopher requested. "Share it with me."  </p>
<p>Vaguely, through the beat starting in his blood, Peter admired the man's honesty.  He hadn't promised Peter freedom or to get him home; there was only the offer to make his current state better.  Peter desperately wanted it made better. He sighed, letting the warmth that surrounded him become the only thing he would think of.  </p>
<p>"I've never been with another man,"  Peter explained honestly, not looking at Christopher.  </p>
<p>A breathy chuckle tickled his neck.  "I will make it enjoyable.  I would never cause you harm."  </p>
<p>Turning within the circle of strength, Peter looked up at Christopher.  A slow smile, unlike any he'd ever seen on Egon's face, slipped across Christopher's handsome features.  Whatever the captain had read in Peter's eyes had answered the last of his questions.  Carefully, his gaze never leaving Peter's face, Christopher removed his glasses, lay them on the desk.  The heat in the beautiful eyes sent a shiver down Peter's spine.  </p>
<p>"Don't be afraid of me,"  Christopher whispered, misunderstanding Peter's shake.  </p>
<p>As an answer, Peter moved, tilting his head and pushing up to take the full, sensuous lips.  There was a moment of frozen surprise from the taller man, then a soft laugh eased through their joined lips.  Christopher took command, began to lay light kisses along Peter cheeks, down his neck.  Peter sighed softly, leaning back to give Christopher more freedom.  </p>
<p>Hard, calloused hands undressed him in a ballet that feed the fire in Peter's veins.  He gave himself to the strength, to the unspoken commands and the undescribable desire. Christopher lay him back on the hard bunk, eased open his shirt, tugging it free of the tight pants.  Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Peter wondered at how easily he let the tall blonde take over, at how easily he gave up all control.  Christopher lay a single kiss to the base of his throat, tongue gliding along his collarbone before working it's way down to his nipple.  By the time the hot, wet trail was finished, Peter had ceased to wonder about anything.  </p>
<p>The heavy body moved.  Smiling down at him, Christopher stood and started to undress.  Peter pushed up on his elbows, his own tentative smile growing more and more certain with each piece of clothing that was removed.  Christopher was slim, each muscle standing out in gold edged relief, sensuous candlelight shadows danced in the light hair.  The man would have been perfect if not for the long white scars that lay along one arm, his back and above his right knee.  But rather than detracting from the sensuous appeal, the imperfections deepened Peter's desire.  </p>
<p>Sitting up, Peter shed the last of his clothes without the slightest hesitation, gaze locked with the blue above him. When the last of the protection fell away, he closed with Christopher, hand drifting lightly out to touch the gold and ivory.  Shyly, he touched the cock that stood out so darkly prominent compared with the fair body.  </p>
<p>"You're beautiful,"  he whispered.  </p>
<p>Christopher laughed softly.  "An odd wording but thank you."  </p>
<p>Christopher's willing mouth claimed Peter's, tongue pushing into hot welcome.  With them still locked in the kiss, the bigger man rolled them down into the bunk.  Peter wiggled around, breaking the kiss, sliding, needing to feel pressure on his own straining shaft.  The dance changed now, the light strains of the ballet gave way to the drive of ancient drums.  </p>
<p>"What do you want, Peter?"  the bass voice asked clearly.  </p>
<p>The drums nearly drowned his senses, almost made answering impossible but he stilled the beat for a moment, shifted to look into the handsome face.  "You're the captain.  I'm just a beginner."  </p>
<p>"Beginner is not a word I would have used with anyone so sensual as you, Peter," Christopher whispered.  </p>
<p>Gently Christopher continued his trip down Peter's shaking form.  Peter sighed, moaning as the man's calloused hands stroked between his legs, down along each thigh, under to squeeze his ass, leaving solid beats with each move. The hot mouth claimed his cock and Peter nearly screamed.  </p>
<p>"Stop!"  Somehow Peter managed to get the single word out through his breathless panting.  </p>
<p>Christopher looked up, startled, eyes betraying a touch of anger.  Peter's hand brushed, butterfly light across the pale forehead.  </p>
<p>"I'm not doing anything for you,"  he explained quietly.  </p>
<p>A wide smile curled the full lips.  "What part of the activity would you like to attempt?"  </p>
<p>Peter swallowed, scared of his next suggestion, afraid that he wouldn't be able to do it.  "If you lay opposite me, I can try what you're doing."  </p>
<p>Christopher gave him a long, searching look, as if to see whether the suggestion were made out of enjoyment or fear. Peter's answering smile left no question.  Christopher shifted around, feet next to Peter's head.  Without warning, he grabbed Peter and rolled them around, putting Peter on top. Frowning, Peter gave him a questioning look.  </p>
<p>"I'm more experienced at this,"  Christopher explained. The deep voice grew even more husky, more enticing.  "You will control the depth you can handle, while you can thrust as deep as you like."  </p>
<p>The blunt promise nearly sent Peter over the edge at the thought.  His reaction stopped him for just a moment.  He was startled at how much he wanted this.  He had been sucked off before, had never felt this incredible excitement over it. Those times, it had been sex, this time it was more than physical desire.  He needed this, needed to know that someone cared, that Christopher would be there, would stand by him in this world. An evening's sex didn't prove that, but for now he would take whatever was offered.  </p>
<p>Under him the slender form shifted and his thoughts vanished under the erotic assault that Christopher's tongue launched along his cock.  Slowly, carefully, he lowered his head, trying to copy the other man's moves, at the same time running his hands across the flat stomach, down the hard thighs. One hand took the bottom half of Christopher's large cock, and Peter used it to guide it through his lips.  The feel of the solid shaft was strange, the salty flavor, the weight and pulse intriguing. He slipped his whole mouth around it, letting it slide in as far as he comfortably could.  Then he pulled away, licking up only one side, ringing around the full crown, then sliding it back in.  On the second long, slow slide out he was rewarded with a deep moan from Christopher.  </p>
<p>"Very good student,"  the man whispered.  </p>
<p>The pressure on Peter's own cock increased, bringing a moan from deep in his throat.  They were moving together then, the lust sweeping them away. The sea whispered around them, accented the soft sound of flesh on flesh, highlighted the almost soundless moans of building excitement. The staccato beat grew louder in Peter's blood and he was panting hard as he moved faster and deeper over Christopher's shaft.  He felt his bones grow light, passed the point of stopping and rushed for the crescendo. Under him the strong body started to surge like the sea, Christopher thrusting into Peter's mouth.  </p>
<p>Peter drifted, chaotic thoughts swirling between the sea's voice and the sensuous dance that Christopher was leading him in.  He pushed down twice more into the hot, wet mouth that held him, felt the cock he was romancing going thicker, harder. Then he stepped off the edge, pumping his seed into the warm hold at the same time as Christopher erupted into his throat. They both stiffened, moaning.  They floated together for a moment, minds stilled in pleasure.  </p>
<p>Peter suddenly found himself on his side, found Christopher next to him, kissing him softly.  </p>
<p>"A fast study indeed,"  Christopher said with a smile.  </p>
<p>"Thanks, coach,"  Peter mumbled.  "Flip the light will you?"  </p>
<p>For the first time in two months Peter's last thoughts before sleep were not of home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"She's coming!"  Ray yelled from the control board.  </p><p>Egon braced himself as he pronounced the last tongue twisting syllable.  The reassuring click of a proton switch sounded from Winston's position as a swirling shadow of light and dark appeared between the tall physicist and Peter.  A crack like a giant bolt of static power lit the area, forcing Egon to cover his eyes.  Before the glare had vanished a high clear voice sounded out of the light.  </p><p>"Who calls me?"  </p><p>With a quick glance over his shoulder, Egon saw Ray intently gaining the readings they needed to complete the trap. This was the dangerous part, the wait, the tense few seconds that would stretch like hours as Egon stalled.  Even with the reassuring whine of Winston's thrower backing him, Egon felt his mouth go dry as he stepped forward.  A slip now and both he and Peter would pay.  </p><p>"Who dares to call Renasta!"  A soft, lilting voice called through the blue mist.  </p><p>"I do,"  Egon spoke quickly, noting absently how small his voice sounded next to the goddess'.  </p><p>Out of the too bright light a form developed, finishing with another near blinding burst.  Egon blinked.  Despite the descriptions he had read, he was not prepared for Renasta's appearance.  She was beautiful in the most exotic way. Chocolate brown skin was highlighted with gold overtones; pitch black hair, spun with gold and gems was wrapped in a tight stack over her prefect face.  The thinnest of layers of silk fell over the full figure. Red lips finished a lovely, kindly face.  She smiled, showing ivory white teeth.  </p><p>"So, mortal,"  she whispered seductively, "why do you seek Renasta?"  </p><p>If she noticed Winston's threat or Ray's scrambling, she gave no sign.  Slowly, she settled to the ground, also ignoring Peter, all her attention on Egon.  </p><p>"Ten seconds,"  Ray pleaded softly.  </p><p>Egon took a hesitate step forward, cleared his throat. "I wish to make an offering to you, oh all powerful, Renasta."  </p><p>He had remembered the words, all the proper things to say that would keep her attention.  The problem arose when the time for the actual offer came.  If everything went according to plan Ray would have the readings long before that was necessary.  "What would a mortal have that would interest the great Renasta?"  She returned formally, preening as she did.  </p><p>"A soul,"  Egon returned.  "A thing for Renasta's pleasure."  </p><p>Inside he cringed, knowing that those same words had sentenced Peter to horrors he couldn't imagine. There was a series of faint clicks from behind him as Ray raced through the switches.  Swallowing, hoping that she would not notice his movement, Egon started to back away.  </p><p>"What price for this toy?"  she returned.  </p><p>"The future,"  Egon continued his ploy.  "I wish to be able to see the future."  </p><p>A light laugh, like gold bells in a spring breeze answered his request.  "How very like a mortal,"  Renasta giggled.  </p><p>Egon took another step back - and Renasta screamed in anger. "How dare you!"  </p><p>"Egon!  Down!"  </p><p>There was no way to know what had given them away.  Egon dropped, scrambling away as Renasta doubled her size. She pointed one finger at him but Winston's ray lashed out, slamming her against the wall. It did little else.  Egon rolled over the edge of the circle of equipment that made up the modified containment grid.  </p><p>"Now, Ray!"  he yelled.  </p><p>The crackle of power surging through the lines was drowned out by a roar of anger from the goddess. As the wall of protons went up around her Renasta lashed out, throwing a bolt of pure psi energy.  Still on the ground Egon watched the deadly missile rush toward him, rolled desperately away. The projectile slammed into the floor next to him, catching him in it's circle of destruction.  There was a moment of pain then darkness.  </p><p>"Egon,"  a soft voice called to him through a thick fog.  </p><p>He struggled toward it. Forcing his eyes open, his gaze met Ray's fearfilled face, slowly focused enough to allow him to see Winston kneeling behind Ray.  He was laying in Ray's lap, strong arms holding him partially raised.  </p><p>"Egon?"  Ray spoke again, running a shaky hand through Egon's hair. "Are you okay?"  </p><p>It was a question that Egon had to think about for a moment. He shifted, testing limbs and muscles.  There was stiffness, as if he'd strained his whole body but no sharp pain of serious injury.  Trying to sit up, he groaned, his vision going red and pain thundering through his head.  His eyes snapped shut.  </p><p>"We need to get him to a doctor,"  Winston whispered.  </p><p>"No,"  he managed softly, surprised that more pain didn't follow that announcement.  </p><p>Ray's gentle touch swept across his forehead.  "Egon, are you sure?  You... screamed. Now you ..."  </p><p>The pain faded, allowing him to open his eyes again.  He forced a smile onto his face.  "Headache,"  he explained shortly.  "I do not believe there is any substantial damage. There does not seem to be any indication of a concussion."  </p><p>His two companions exchanged worried glances, both of them looking first at him, then toward the wall.  The reason for his incapacitation returned in a rush.  Curiosity almost made him move but he forced himself to lie still.  </p><p>"Renasta?"  he questioned.  </p><p>"Oh, we got her,"  Winston answered.  "I'm just not sure how long we can keep her."  </p><p>"Explain,"  Egon demanded of Ray.  </p><p>"The fields are fluctuating on a scale of 6-10, Egon,"  Ray told him.  "She's more powerful than we thought.  At this rate, if we don't figure something out, she'll manage to break the trap in about six hours." </p><p>Steeling himself against the pain it would cause, Egon sat up.  Two voices protested through the buzzing in his head and the room spun around him but he made it into a upright position. He waited, letting Ray's arms hold him up while Winston's hands pressed encouragement along his back.  </p><p>"We have to proceed,"  he gasped, a touch of nausea now entering his stomach.  "We can't wait."  </p><p>"We can wait long enough for you to take some painkiller and recover," Winston said.  </p><p>He started to shake his head, thought better of it. "I'm..."  </p><p>Ray ignored him, pulled him back against his chest. "Winston, go get the Demerol, a blanket and damp cloth."  </p><p>"Aspirin,"  Egon corrected.  "Demerol makes me drowsy."  </p><p>It came to him as Winston moved off that he could hear Renasta screaming in rage.  But he didn't have the strength to rise out of Ray's strong hold.  In fact, he sank a little further into it, letting his head rest against Ray's board shoulder.  The large hands went back to stroking his hair.  </p><p>"It was close, Egon,"  Ray said softly. "You should see the hole in the floor."  </p><p>The light joke couldn't cover the tremor in his voice. With an effort, Egon moved his hand to still one of Ray's.  He squeezed the blunt fingers.  </p><p>"I'm uninjured, Raymond,"  he assured him.  Looking up, he let a feral expression enter his eyes.  "It's time to get Peter back."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It surprised Peter that he had come to love the sea so much. His was a lifetime of closed cities, buildings and concrete. Thinking back, he realized that he had taken to camping immediately.  The feelings he had when standing alone in a quiet wood were similar to those evoked by the roll of the sea, the peace of the waves.  Night was his favorite time.  The stars danced in the waves, the moon left a swath of crystal light in the dark water.  Far away a whale sang to the ocean.  </p><p>Peter sighed, the melancholy song and the beautiful light did nothing to dispel the guilt leaving a path through his heart.  What he'd thought he wanted, to forget about home for just a little had been achieved and now, in the dark alone, he saw it as betrayal.  </p><p>He had fallen into a dangerous, alluring trap - becoming more concerned with his present than with getting home. Pushing himself away from the rail, he tried to push himself away from the thoughts as well.  Tonight had been an emotional rollercoaster and he knew that he was in no condition to analyze what he felt.  </p><p>"Is he much like me?"  Christopher's familiar voice questioned behind him.  </p><p>Peter straightened.  "Who?"  he evaded, knowing the answer.  </p><p>A thick cloak was lowered over his bare shoulders breaking the evening chill. Christopher's voice was soft with compassion.  "The one whose name you called as you came; the one you whispered for in your sleep."  </p><p>Snapping his eyes closed Peter tried to deny the evidence. "I don't..."  </p><p>"Egon,"  Christopher whispered.  </p><p>There was no way to avoid the truth, no place to run from what he'd given away to the tall captain, and to himself.  He turned.  Christopher was standing in front of him, wearing a patient, almost tender smile.  For just a moment Peter let his gaze drift down the slender, fine body.  He remembered the feel of hard muscle, the rough edge of scars under his fingers. Staring into the night dark eyes, he let himself think of Egon.  </p><p>"He's everything like you and nothing at all,"  Peter said seriously.  </p><p>"Are you lovers?"  Christopher asked softly.  </p><p>"No,"  Peter replied.  "It's not the same there... home."  </p><p>Christopher was silent. After a minute of studying Peter, he tilted his head down and pushed up his glasses. "You promised to tell me about your home, one dark night." Lightly, he added, "This night is fairly dark, as nights go."  </p><p>Peter's training, a blessing and a curse sometimes, told him that he needed to talk, even if he wouldn't be believed. Still, he hesitated, afraid of losing what little comfort he had found. A chuckle called his attention back to the blonde.  </p><p>"I could order it,"  Christopher reminded him.  "Please Peter, for the sake of my curiosity, if nothing else."  </p><p>"You won't believe me,"  Peter argued.  </p><p>Christopher frowned.  "Perhaps.  But I will listen."  </p><p>The single, simple promise was Peter's undoing.  He sat down slowly, not noticing the damp wood under him, staring into the stars that couldn't be seen from the firehouse. He started with his world, his time, the marvels and the horrors that were home. Next, and much longer, he talked about his friends, about Ray, Winston, Janine, even Slimer.  And Egon.  </p><p>The new sun was turning the sea gold and blue when he finished his story with the events that had lead to his captivity. It was only as his voice died down that Peter felt the strong arm resting across his shoulder holding the cloak warmly against him.  </p><p>In the hours of one-sided conversation, he had never dared look at Christopher.  Now, very slowly he tilted his head up and stared into the gold tinged features.  There was nothing in the other man's expression, only calm blankness. Peter's heart sank at the stiffness in the slender body next to him.  The silence stretched out, broken only by the rush of waves under the Star's hull.  </p><p>After a minute it became unbearable.  "Please say something,"  Peter pleaded softly.  </p><p>The request brought a startled look to the Captain's face. He met Peter's eyes, and very slowly, like the sun breaking over the crystal ocean, he smiled.  </p><p>"What a wonderful story,"  he said.  </p><p>Peter stiffened.  "Story!  Story?  Is that what you think..."  </p><p>He tried to pushed up, strong hands stopped him, pulled him down into a deep, searching kiss.  When Christopher released him, it was only to let him move a few inches.  </p><p>"I believe you, Peter,"  the velvet voice assured him.  </p><p>A cold wind hit him as he realized that he had as much as told Christopher that he had a plan for getting home.  He pulled back, fear creeping slowly through him.  Christopher let him go, regarding him calmly, expression saying that he acknowledged what Peter had guessed.  </p><p>"You know the law on this ship, Peter,"  he said levelly. "When you have enough gold, you are a freeman.  Only then."  </p><p>Anger rushed through Peter as hot as his earlier desire. "But I don't belong here!"  </p><p>"You belong to me!"  Christopher said fiercely.  After a second, his mouth softened.  "But I am not unreasonable.  I'll help you find your seeress and whatever other knowledge you might need.  Then, when the time comes, you'll be ready."  </p><p>His anger fading like fog under a hot sun, Peter sighed, looking into the bright sun, looking toward a future that he could only pray would find him a way home.  </p><p>"At the rate you pay,"  he groused with forced lightness, "I'll never be able to afford the trip."  </p><p>Christopher laughed against his neck, kissed him along one ear.  "Not to worry,"  he said vaguely, "your compensation will be increasing presently."  </p><p> </p><p>The novelty of quaint port towns had worn off. Peter waited impatiently, pacing the long deck while their present cargo was unloaded and new supplies including a large crate of oranges, were brought aboard. The afternoon drug on, the only excitement provided by the odd instance of Christopher ordering him to give Nathan twenty gold pieces.  Nathan took it without a word, without even a glare at Peter and left. For a moment, Peter thought of asking what was going on but one look at the commanding blue eyes quelled any idea along that line.  It was nearing late afternoon when Christopher finally smiled at him.  </p><p>"I believe we have some business to attend to,"  he prompted.  </p><p>Peter bolted for the plank, leading the way through the small, dirty town.  This port was the smallest, most far flung they had docked in yet, just slightly north of the Spanish trade lanes. Freighting ships, especially English freighters, were very careful to avoid the lanes.  The paranoid Spanish, Peter had been told, sank first and never asked questions.  </p><p>"Peter,"  Christopher ventured from beside him, "you know that most of these women are fakes, catering to the heathen Indians and the ignorant slaves around here."  </p><p>"One of these days I'm going to have to speak to you about being politically correct,"  Peter joked.  Cautiously, he defended. "The other four..."  </p><p>"The second one was a very obvious fake,"  Christopher reminded him.  </p><p>"Okay,"  Peter admitted.  "But you have to admit that the other three all said the same thing.  Find the fifth one.  Able also told me this one is very respected around here."  </p><p>"Respected enough to get burned at the stake if she runs afoul of the local church,"  Christopher said lowly.  </p><p>"And if she can't help me, she might lead me to someone who can."  Peter fell back on his same hope.  </p><p>They continued their trek, the silence comfortable and easy.  </p><p>"You've been teaching Able a way to talk with his hands," Christopher quizzed. "What is that?"  </p><p>"It's called American Sign Language,"  Peter explained as they walked through the narrow streets, dodging the chamber pots being emptied out windows.  "Egon knows it.  He taught us some signs to use on our cases.  I could teach it to you," Peter volunteered.  "That way you and Able could better understand each other."  </p><p>"Perhaps,"  the captain said thoughtfully.  </p><p>Gradually, the pressed dirt gave way to a narrow trail as they reached the edge of the town.  A row of shacks marked the boundary between town and jungle. Christopher stopped, motioned Peter forward. Trepidation crept into Peter's actions but he forced his feet to carry him up the crooked wooden stairs of the last house. Before he could knock a voice called out from inside.  </p><p>"Come."  It ordered in French.  </p><p>Glancing back, Peter tilted his head, asking without words if Christopher wanted to come in, hoping that his captain did. A firm shake of the head answered him.  </p><p>"I'll wait,"  Christopher said with a smile.   "I might make her nervous."  </p><p>Peter opened the surprisingly heavy door.  The room was light, all the shutters open and the summer breeze blowing through the two rooms.  A small cooking fire flickered under a single bubbling pot, giving off the smell of chicken broth.  In a chair at a solid table sat a small, middle aged woman. She was wearing a row of gold chains that sparkled against her naked light brown breasts, a bright red skirt fell to her ankles, not quiet covering her bare feet.  She smiled at him from shocking blue eyes the same shade as an old friend and new lover.  </p><p>"I am Charloti,"  she spoke lightly.  "Welcome, Peter."  </p><p>Taking a deep breath, he asked in French.  "You know why I'm here?"  </p><p>"Of course, I knew you'd come,"  she said matter-of-factly. "A piece of gold is the charge."  </p><p>He smiled, sitting in a chair opposite her and reaching for his pouch.  "We all have to make a living."  </p><p>"Ask your questions,"  she ordered as he laid the gold down.  </p><p>Hesitantly, he started.  "I don't belong here.  I want to get home."  </p><p>"Your hand,"  she ordered levelly.  </p><p>Eagerly Peter held out his hand, at the same time refusing to let hope gain too strong a hold.  Turning it palm up, her cool hand stroked over his for a moment. Absently he noted the callouses that stood out darkly on his hand; he'd never had callouses before. Charloti's eyes drifted closed and Peter waited, wondering if she were real, if he were wasting his time.  </p><p>Blinking, she started to whisper. "At the beginning, so is the end."  </p><p>"The beginning..."  </p><p>Charloti took a sharp breath, stopping his questions.  Her voice grew more husky. "Three. One fair of face and hair.  They seek you.  Love in this one.  Walls are not always so." Frowning, she added,  "Blood in the gold.  Danger.  Death."  </p><p>With a sharp cry, she jerked her hands away.  Peter jumped, shivering suddenly in the summer breeze.  Unsure of what to do next, he reached out, took Charloti's hand in a soothing gesture.  </p><p>"Easy, it's okay,"  he said, ignoring the fear running along his own nerves.  </p><p>She took a deep breath, shook her head once and looked up at him, tears glittered in her eyes.  "You must leave now.  You have a long way to travel."  </p><p>"What does all that mean?"  Peter demanded.  "The guys are searching for me, aren't they?  How do I find them?"  </p><p>"It means what it means,"  she snapped suddenly.  "There is no more."  </p><p>With that she shoved away from the table, turning toward the pot, completely dismissing him.  Admitting defeat, Peter stood. He contemplated the narrow figure, the worn cloth that encircled her waist, the meager pot.  After a minute he lay another of his hardearned gold coins on her table.  Turning, a small hand touched his arm.  He looked down at her, but she refused to met his eyes.  </p><p>"Go with God,"  she whispered softly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Egon took the cloth off his eyes, handed it to Ray.  "It's time, Ray."  </p><p>He sat up, sliding to the edge of the couch without Ray's assistance. A cup appeared next to his hand.  </p><p>"Finish this first,"  Ray urged.  </p><p>The aroma of chocolate drifted up from the mug and Egon reached out to wrap his cold hands around it.  "Thank you."  </p><p>Sipping the hot liquid, Egon watched Ray's eyes take on a deep contemplative look.  He knew what Ray was thinking, it was the same question he'd thought too much about since they had discovered what Renasta's power was.  He stared into the cup and voiced the first question.  </p><p>"Ray,"  he asked softly, "what do you think are Peter's most deeply held morals?"  </p><p>Ray looked up, unsurprised that he and Egon were thinking on the same wavelength.  "Killing, stealing and betrayal,"  he answered without hesitation.  </p><p>"Betrayal?"  Egon looked up, puzzled by which way Ray meant the word.  </p><p>Nodding, Ray explained, "Betraying his friends.  Peter would never break his word to someone he trusted and cared for."  </p><p>Raising carefully, Egon walked around slowly, stretching stiff muscles.  "What about the more conventionally held beliefs?"  </p><p>"Peter's pretty unconventional,"  Ray said with a slight smile.  Seriously, he asked, "What were you thinking of?"  </p><p>Shrugging, Egon said, "I don't know... sex, violence... robbing for what might seem a good reason..."  </p><p>Ray paused, looking thoughtful.  "We've all had to use violence, though usually not against people.  If an innocent life were endangered, Peter would kill.  But I don't believe he'd think it was immoral."  </p><p>Flushing slightly, he finished by adding, "Sex...  as long as it's between consenting adults I don't think Peter would consider it immoral."  </p><p>Egon had known that, had used it as a stall before he asked the question he feared most.  "What about suicide?"  he whispered without facing his friend.  </p><p>There was no immediate answer and that brought him around. Ray had his lower lip clenched tightly in his teeth, was staring at the scuffed floor.  After a minute of heavy silence, Ray looked up at him, certainty shining in the amber eyes.  </p><p>"Not Peter,"  he said firmly.  His intuition came to the fore again and he stood to join Egon at the window.  "You're afraid he's going to give in, aren't you?"  </p><p>It could have been an accusation but Ray's soft voice conveyed only worry and understanding.  Egon closed his eyes for a moment, reluctantly nodded.  </p><p>"I believe time is progressing at a different rate in whatever dimension Peter is in. It would be the only explanation to Renasta being able to convert the victim so quickly."  He turned to face Ray. "How long can someone hold out against what is in all likely hood an ongoing assault? What if something convinces him that it is a good idea in the world he is presently occupying?  That's what Renasta does, what drives her victims into despair."  </p><p>"I know,"  Ray said seriously.  "I also know that Peter will hold out, forever if need be.  Because he'll wait for us. No matter how long it takes, no matter what happens, he won't give in because he knows we're out here trying to get him back."  </p><p>His confidence and absolute belief in Peter and themselves thawed the chill in Egon's chest.  Slowly, a smile crept from behind the cold walls that had been steadily growing around his heart. Sitting the cup down on the end table, he let the smile reach his face.  </p><p>"Let's precede with the discussion with Renasta,"  he stated.  </p><p>When Egon walked into the room, he knew they were in trouble.  Even though they had held the goddess for just under two hours already the temporary containment unit was proving how temporary it might be.  Small blue flashes jumped through the lines at random intervals, leaving charred spots on the abused firehouse floor.  </p><p>Renasta was sitting quietly in the center of the ring of flickering lights.  She looked up, regarding him coolly.  </p><p>"You cannot hold me, mortal,"  she said softly.  </p><p>Egon ignored her comment, sat down opposite her.  "We need information."  </p><p>There was no answer, only a coldly malevolently.  "I will kill you all when I am free."  </p><p>Beside him, he felt Ray flinch, not so much from the insults as the sight of the naked form she had assumed. Winston, sitting in a chair near the monitor, looked on calmly. He exchanged a quick, positive smile with Egon.  </p><p>Pointing to Peter, Egon said, "You were offered this human by a follower.  We stripped the power you gave that human, the deal is void.  You must return Peter's spirit."  </p><p>She spared one contentious glance toward Peter, then explained.  "Do you think I care what you did on this side of the curtain?  If you robbed the power bestowed, it has after it had been given.  The spirit is still mine."  </p><p>Gracefully, she rose, smiling. "However, I am not unreasonable. Release me and I will give you what you desire."  </p><p>It was the obvious deal, the one that Egon wished desperately to make and the one he couldn't.  There had been no discussion on releasing her; there didn't need to be.  If there was one thing they were all certain of, it was that Peter would not want to return if it meant that Renasta would be freed.  </p><p>"Give us Peter back and I'll release you,"  Egon lied smoothly.  </p><p>She ignored his request, cooed softly, "The thing most desired by each of you."  The green eyes slipped closed.  "I know it, can see it in each of your..."  </p><p>There was a pause.  Renasta's eyes snapped open, a frown on her lovely face.  "So, that which you desire most is your friend's return.  You cannot have him back.  I can not give him back."  </p><p>Before Egon could find an argument for her statements, someone grabbed him and he was drug back into the hall. He looked down to find Ray's hand holding both his and Winston's arm.  There was insight and dismay written on Ray's worried face.  </p><p>"Guys,"  Ray started, glancing between the two of them, "I think she's telling the truth.  I don't think she can give Peter back."  </p><p>Egon took a sharp breath, as if the idea were a physical blow.  "What makes you believe that?"  he demanded a little more harshly than he intended.  </p><p>"She has to set up complex situations to get the victim to violate his morals,"  Ray explained.  "I don't think she can interrupt one of her "morality plays" once it's in motion."  </p><p>"If that's true,"  Winston observed quietly, "what's our next move?"  </p><p>"It means that we're requesting the wrong thing, seeking the wrong deal,"  Egon surmised.  </p><p>"Come again?"  Winston asked.  </p><p>Egon paced away, clicking off variables that would have to be taken into consideration.  "We're seeking Peter's return. Renasta can't do that.  When she searches our minds for the thing we most want we need to alter it to the ability to see Peter in his present state."  </p><p>"Okay,"  Winston agreed carefully.  "What good will that do?"  </p><p>"I've got it,"  Ray exclaimed.  "She'll have to open the gate to do that and when she does I can record the dimensions frequency and modulation rate."  </p><p>Egon turned back, crossing his arms and looking pleased for the first time in days.  "That information will allow us to build a retrieval device."  </p><p>Still looking doubtful, Winston said, "So far so good, expect for one thing - Renasta.  She won't be able to do jack from within the field.  We'd have to let her out."  </p><p>Winston's soft statement of fact, faded the growing smiles on the other two Ghostbusters faces.  Egon ran a hand through his thick hair, pushed the glasses up on his nose. He stared thoughtfully at the floor, after a long minute, before looking up.  </p><p>"Then I'll let her out,"  he said calmly.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
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    <p>It was a prefect day.  The wind softly billowed the sails, raising the waves to a fine roll and cooling the bright sun. Peter frowned slightly, it would have been a prefect day if he could figure out what was causing the tension among the crew that was becoming more apparent as the morning wore on. Wanting an explanation, he scanned the ship for Christopher.  On the aft deck, the captain and Nathan were involved in what looked to be an intense conversation.  Despite his curiosity, Peter paused long enough to admire the cut of the black leather beeches on his captain, the sun brightened the white shirt, glinted off the silver of his buckles and the sword hanging at his side. Peter stared only now realizing it was the first time he had seen Christopher wear a sword on board.  He started forward and a strong hand snagged his arm, pulled him to a stop.  </p><p>He looked over at Able's grim expression.  "What's going on?"  </p><p>Able took Peter's arm again, moving him to the railing.  He pointed to the far horizon just off the port bow. Peter blinked, squinting against the glare of the sun on the sparkling water. Just visible but growing fast was the dark shape of another ship.  Talk from DePaul taverns of heavy gunned Spanish immediately filled Peter's thoughts.  He turned to ask Able another question when he realized two things; the Star was following the other ship and, like their captain, all the men on deck were armed with cutless and pistols.  </p><p>As often as Peter was out of his element in this world, this time he knew immediately what was about to happen.  With a startled glance at Christopher he understood all the vague remarks about profit and take. They were going to attack the Spanish ship! </p><p>"Jesus Christ,"  he whispered.  "We're pirates!"  </p><p>There was a throaty chuckle as Able nodded, smiling proudly. Peter could only stare, recognizing the feral glint in the black eyes.  He had seen that look in his own expression, a glitter compounded of excitement, aggression and a touch of fear.  He glanced from the prey to Able's eager face to the tall blonde in command. Nathan was next to Christopher, his attention locked on the prize they were chasing.  In another flash of insight, Peter connected the reason for Nathan's continued presence and the meaning of the gold pouch. Somehow, Nathan was the key to knowing when the treasure ships sailed.  </p><p>Peter felt an intense gaze touch him and looked toward Christopher.  The captain of the Star of Ireland was watching him, gauging his reaction to this new development. At that moment, Peter wasn't sure of his reaction.  He could feel the excitement stirring in his blood like when he went on a big bust. Romantic images of Errol Flynn, flashing swords and bold heroics filled his mind.  When he broke the stare with the blonde to look again toward the Spanish ship, he found himself silently cheering the Star on.  </p><p>He was mesmerized by the chase, by the dolphins that lead them, by the snap of sails as the sleek ship surged after its prey.  Only when the glint of sun off the massive gallon's cannon caught his attention did fear begin to heighten his senses.  </p><p>Able touched his arm, with a gesture at the sword on his hip, the big slave questioned whether Peter wanted to be armed. The question brought the situation into sharp focus and reality washed over him like the warm sea wind. Men were about to die. He found himself looking at the tall, powerful figure on the main deck.  Able touched his arm again, but Peter shrugged it off.  </p><p>He took a half step toward Christopher and the guns of the Spanish ship spoke.  Plumes of smoke billowed out of her ten port cannons and Peter ducked, cringing. The shots fell far short of the Star, bringing a jeer from the crew.  Vaguely, Peter heard Christopher call an order.  The ship lurched, fighting the turn and closing with the heavily laden Spaniard from behind.  </p><p>"Aim on the up roll,"  Christopher ordered calmly.  "Watch the water line."  </p><p>The Star returned fire, only with better results.  One shot shattered the aft railing, while two of the six ripped through one of the huge gallon's sails.  </p><p>"Coals, Kirkpatrick,"  The captain instructed.  </p><p>Peter watched in fascination as the gunners loaded the six cannons with hot galley coals.  The Star came into the wind, sails whipping hard over, facing the guns of the Spanish ship again.  Before Christopher could finish the order the twelve guns from the Spanish ship erupted.  Peter ducked, hugging behind the railing even as he remembered how useless it would have been on the other ship.  An iron ball the size of his head crashed through the deck only a few feet from him.  There was a scream from down below.  Christopher shouted orders. But Peter failed to notice, he grabbed the railing as the ship bucked sideways.  </p><p>Peter pushed himself up, startled at how quickly the two vessels had come together.  Across the perfect blue water he could see scared, angry faces, catch the flash of steel, see the black barrels of muskets peeking between the ornate rails. A few sailors were already firing, too nervous to wait until the Star was within the long guns limited range.  </p><p>The Star's cannons fired; most of the unusual shot fell into the sea but some landed and immediately Peter saw the advantage of the coals as the waxed canvass sparked into flame. There was a cry of alarm from the Spanish crew as they turned away from the Star to fight the fires.  Admiration for Christopher's plan almost made Peter smile.  The fires would not be enough to sink the gallon but they would provide a very good distraction.  </p><p>"Hard a starboard!"  Christopher shouted.  A heartbeat later the two ships collided with an unnerving shudder.  </p><p>"Over you go, mates!"  Christopher's deep voice ordered.  </p><p>The crew swarmed over the railing, leaping the few feet to the other ship.  The sound of screams, shouts and curses was highlighted by gunshots and the clang of steel.  Caught by the contiguous rush of men and adrenaline, Peter grabbed the previously offered sword from Able's hand.  The big black man looked over at him, smiling wickedly.  With a single spring of strong muscles Able made the railing, reached down for Peter's hand.  They cleared the space together, landing on the smoking deck.  Able moved away, wading into the fight with enthusiasm.  </p><p>Peter felt the excitement racing through his pulse, barely heard the shouts and curses around him.  A heavily bearded Spaniard popped up in front of him, sword raised. Peter raised his own in defense, blocked the first blow while following through with a roundhouse punch that knocked the man down.  </p><p>Through his haze of excitement, the moans of the wounded reached Peter, pushing fear in to his stomach - fear for Christopher.  The same fear haunted his nightmares at home, the fear of losing one of his friends.  He scanned the packed horde, searching for his captain.  The tall blonde was easy to spot, wading through the fighting with cool efficiency. Peter's worry vanished as he saw the glitter of aggression in the sparkling eyes, the graceful way Christopher handled the sword.  </p><p>Another sailor surged up in front of Peter and Able knocked the man down from behind, signalling Peter to finish him.  As if it had a mind of it's own the sword came up in Peter's hand and he took a step forward.  As he did his foot slipped in a pool of blood - in that instant the world came into focus around him. This was not self-defense; this was about gold, this was about killing for profit.  Peter stepped back, staring down at the sword in his hand as if he couldn't remember how it had came to be there.  He opened his hand and let it fall to the bloody deck.  Turning, he leapt to the top of the railing, ready to return to the Star.  </p><p>There was a cry of pain from behind him and he turned to find Able down, one leg bleeding freely just above the knee. A Spaniard was standing above him, sword raised to finish the kill.  Peter leapt, knocking the man away and grabbing Able around the waist to hoist him to his feet. Somehow, Peter would never be sure how, they made the long jump back to the Star.  </p><p>Peter let Able sink to the deck, looked desperately around for help.  Nearby, Smoky was already tending to the wounded. Grabbing Able's hand, he pressed one finger against the pressure point at his thigh.  </p><p>"Press,"  he ordered.  </p><p>Scrambling away he grabbed Smoky and started rattling off his needs.  "Bandages, thread, honey and water."  </p><p>He expected arguments but received none.  Smoky, like the rest of the crew had seen the improved healing on their captain's arm.  The old cook nodded and disappeared into the hold.  Peter sighed, turning back to Able. He would be the first patient; there would be many more.</p>
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